


Life’s Beauty is in its Impermanence.

by phansb



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Depression, Happy Ending, Kingston upon Hull, M/M, Meet-Cute, Social Anxiety, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-01 07:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17863451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phansb/pseuds/phansb
Summary: Daniel Howell and Phil Lester live in Kingston upon Hull, and begin chatting after a moment of striking bravery at a café. Over the next few days, they become increasingly more attached to one another, until Phil must leave to Isle of Man for Christmas.





	Life’s Beauty is in its Impermanence.

_"14. I never had the courage to buy bright green sheets. I wanted them, but thought they were too brash, even with no one but me to see them. I bought a set yesterday and put them on the bed. I knew that you would like them."_

  
_‘14 Lines from Love Letters or Suicide Notes,’ Doc Luben._

  
_\---_

  
Dan stared down at his hands, studying them.

  
He was wearing warm, knit mittens, even though the weather in Hull hadn’t gone especially cold yet. The ocean air always made windchill far more biting.

  
He had, moments ago, ordered an ‘Espresso con Panna’ from Caffè Nero. This meant ‘espresso with cream,’ in Italian, he had found out.

  
Dan had been served by a perky someone, an Italian woman, who had recently emigrated to the United Kingdom. She previously lived on the coast of Italy, with her young son, called Luca. She was overjoyed to begin their new life here, she’d told him, as although Italy is a beautiful country, with a rich history, it lacks the same infrastructure values, and has a dysfunctional government; among other things. This woman had made her final choice after a bridge collapsed near their home in Genoa.

  
She wanted to continue living near the ocean, she said, because her nonnuccio had been a craftsman for the Navy of the Italian Republic. It was all she had grown with.

  
He had listened intently, nodding along, because it was the polite thing to do. Also, it had been a genuinely interesting story. He always had a strange affinity for wanting to know more about other people's lives.

  
Even through his mittens—his nana had knit them, with black yarn, after he’d told his family he was moving north; she'd told him that the winters up there would be colder—he could feel the heat radiating from off his mug.

  
He was feeling quiet that day. Not that, on a nicer day, he would be particularly extroverted. Usually he could hold his own in conversation. He supposed he had felt tired, a lengthy night following a series of them.

  
Dan heard a car drive past and wet splashing against the pavement. There had been rain.

  
The door of the shop rung open, and the Italian woman chirped up once more. “Oh! Hello, there! What would you like to order today?”

  
He could hear a steady laugh. “I'm sorry, I need a moment to decide?”

  
“Right, sorry!”

  
The entire room repeated back into a silence.

  
Eventually, the same voice spoke up. “I'll have a medium Macchiato? For here.”

  
“Of course, sir! It will be prepared in just a moment.”

  
Dan smiled at the familiar excitement in her voice; the evidence of being high on life. He hadn’t been particularly unhappy in the past year, but there was never anything that would make him feel the same as she did. He thought maybe it was that nothing different had happened to him, not in a long while. Dan had a brief moment of considering moving to another country in Europe; he had been the one who chose to move to an infamously dull city, in the only country he'd ever properly known.

  
He heard the chair across from him squeak and felt the presence of another person.

  
“Hi.”

  
He glanced up. There was a man standing before him, left hand against the wooden chair, right hand holding a macchiato coffee.

  
Dan couldn't help but grin at the impulsiveness of it all. “Hi.”

  
“Would it be all right if I sat with you?”

  
“OK.”

  
Just as the man took his seat, Dan's willfulness slowed itself, his anxious feelings returned, and he realised there was a full stranger sat across from him.

  
He was wearing a black overcoat, with a navy-coloured jumper beneath it showing through the collar. His hair was black as well, looking to be quite disheveled. He was wearing glasses. He looked as if he were a professional businessman of sorts, who had somehow got fucked over on a storming day.

  
Dan decided he didn't seem to be the type to do awful things, but first glances can make out very little.

  
He stayed silent. He wasn't in a conversational mood to begin with.

  
“My name is Phil,” he started.

  
Dan had, truthfully, hoped they might've gotten away with simply sitting in an uncomfortable silence. It was disastrous, he thought, how others refused to play at his own social interaction. The Italian woman, and now Phil. Nobody would allow him to bask in his quietness that day.

  
“Dan,” Dan said.

  
It was in that moment that he realised he hadn’t yet tasted his drink. Distracted.

  
Phil seemed to have a calm, confident, assuredness about him that Dan could have only dreamed of. Dan always felt as if he was a fiddling mess, and it was entirely obvious to everyone who was around him.

  
“Do you not want to talk with me?” Phil asked, his voice more gentle than it had previously been. Dan stopped. “Because, I understand. I don’t mind.”

  
He looked up. “It's… fine. Are you, like, some weird spirit-thing? That’s sent to teach me a lesson, or whatever?”

  
“No,” Phil laughed. His tongue poked out from between his teeth, his eyes scrunched up. “No, that isn't it. I thought you looked cute. I'm—not usually this forward. My friend had a dare with me, to try and be brave, for the day. It's probably silly.”

  
“It's not silly. I wish I had a friend to be cross with me until I was brave. I’d get on much better that way.”

  
“Well,” Phil said. “You should try to be brave. Just for today, yeah?”

  
Dan smiled to himself before promptly nodding. He paused for a moment, and then, quieter: “So, you said you thought I looked cute?”

  
Phil looked down at the back of his hands, resting on his knees. “Yeah.”

  
Dan chuckled. “So much for being brave… it's OK, though. I think you're cute, too.” He paused, “Maybe—not cute. Like, handsome. Fit. You'd, uh, look good in a suit, y'know?”

  
He glanced up at this, raising an eyebrow. “What are you, a fashion expert?”

  
“I know a suit wearer when I see one.”

  
“God, I haven't worn a suit in years, I think. Probably not since I was in university… that was nine years ago? Jesus, I'm old.”

  
“That’s valid. I can't even guess the last time I wore a suit. Adult life is strange. I guess people at real jobs, office jobs, wear suits.” He took another sip of his espresso. “That would be boring. Oh! I wore a suit when I went to a family friend's wedding, that was a few years ago. Hah, I win.”

  
“What do you win?” Phil asked.

  
“Dunno. Ten more minutes talking with you?”

  
“You can have that for free.”

  
Dan didn't know what came over him; what spell, to make him start behaving this way. Perhaps, he thought, Phil actually was a devine. He'd come and granted Dan the bravery he needed to live his life. Dan would miss him if he disappeared, however. Conversation fell surprisingly easy between them.

  
“So,” Phil started, again, “what're you drinking?”

  
“‘Espresso con Panna.’ It's like, just an espresso with cream. That’s what it means in Italian, the lady at the front told me. She's from Italy.”

  
“Ooh, what does it taste like?”

  
“Like… espresso, with cream. Here, try it.” Dan pushed his drink across the table. He didn't think about the fact that he was sharing with a near-stranger.

  
Phil took a sip. “Oh. A bit bitter, but, like… rich? Dunno. It's good, I like it. I'll buy this if I ever come here again. You're a good advertisement.”

  
Dan pretended to wink at him. “That's my job; I'm just paid to sit in the window of this shop, look cute, and sell drinks to unsuspecting people. Coffee prostitution.”

  
Phil burst into laughter, his tongue making a paced return. It was adorable, and completely endearing. “Oh my Gosh. That's horrible.”

  
“Don't be rude. This is my profession. I thought we were really getting on.” Dan sighed, dramatically.

  
“You do?” Phil smiled.

  
“I did,” he corrected, leaning back into his chair. “Now? I dunno. You'll have to earn back my affections,” Dan said.

  
“I'll try,” he replied. “So… how are you? Sorry. That's, like, my only good question.”

  
“I'm tired,” Dan answered truthfully. “Haven’t been sleeping well, it's weird. I'm usually a pretty deep sleeper. I'd sleep through a bus crash, I bet.”

  
“Isn't that scary, though? What if there was, uhm, a fire in your house? And no one else was home? Would you sleep through it?”

  
“Maybe. Hasn't happened, yet. I live in an apartment building, so, like… yeah,” he said.

  
“Still.”

  
“Shush. Don't question my sleeping choices. How are you?”

  
Phil tilted his head in thought, for a moment. “Hmm… I’m OK, I guess. I was gonna buy Christmas presents for my family today. Until I got interrupted. It's a bit late into December, I think. I hope the shops haven't ran out. They live in Isle of Man, so hopefully there'll be stuff left over when I'm passing through Douglas, anyway.”

  
“Oof, that’s pretty far, mate. My family lives in Reading, so I just need to have, like, a four hour train ride.” He paused. “I actually like it, though. I like taking the train. I like looking at the scenery and thinking—about life. I don't like going back to my family house. I… don't like the people I went to school with. I'm scared I'll bump into them and have to make small talk.”

  
“I’m lucky. I didn't grow up in Isle of Man, I grew up near Manchester. None of the people I used to know, I have to see anymore. Most of them were OK. I miss some of my childhood friends.”

  
Dan laughed bitterly. “I miss having friends. It's hard to meet people once you're out of school. You're the first new conversation I've had in… a long, long time. Real conversation, not like work shit.”

  
“I'm sorry. I think I get it, though. I mean—I’ve had the same friends for years; I'm not making new ones. Not really.”

  
“Apart from me,” Dan added, suddenly.

  
Phil nodded. “Apart from… you.”

  
The rain had started up again, at some point during their chat, and Dan could finally hear it drizzling down. His drink held cool in his hands, now, but the entire moment was enjoyable despite it. The sound of other people in the café conversing amongst themselves; a steeping kettle; the light traffic travelling the road behind them. It was all a lovely aesthetic.

  
Finally, Dan spoke. “You said you were going Christmas shopping?”

  
“Yeah, I was. I already have most of the stuff. I just need to get something for my brother and his girlfriend.”

  
“Oooh, what do they like?” Dan leaned against the palm of his hand with intrigue. “Picking out gifts is fun when you're not responsible for their reaction.”

  
“Well, his girlfriend—her name is Cornelia—she likes plants, like me. They both do. I was thinking of getting them two baby plants and naming them. The problem is, I’m not great at caring for anything that’s alive; I'm scared they'll die before Christmas. It's only a few days left. I might just wait until I leave.”

  
“I own a bunch of potted plants, and they're thriving. What if I kept them alive for you, at my flat, until you like, left for Isle of Man?” Dan offered. “After that, you're on your own, mate.”

  
“Would you?” Phil asked, “you've only known me, like, an hour.”

  
“Oh. Right.” Dan had forgotten that they barely knew anything of each other. He already felt like he’d known this man more than a lifetime. He didn't want to leave that feeling, rather, bask in it. For as long as it could be possible. “Well, offer stands. If you want.” He felt his face go heated.

  
“Thanks,” Phil said. “I'll definitely think about it. I should probably go? You know, so that I'll be home before dark. Would you wanna give me your number?”

  
The way he phrased it, as if there was still a chance that Dan wouldn't want to give up his mobile number, and Phil didn't want to overstep, made Dan feel a different warmth than embarrassment, travelling throughout his body. He knew it was of low expectation, of course, but he'd had his way with plenty of crap men over the years.

  
“Of course, yeah.” Dan took his mobile out of his coat pocket. “Shit, sorry. I'm wearing mittens. You'll have to give me yours, I can't type. I promise I'll message you.”

  
“That’s fine. Gimme a second.”

  
Dan looked over Phil whilst he typed. His hair, if disheveled before, was more so, after an hour of anxiously running his fingers through it. His glasses lay crooked on his nose, and his face was flushed. He was beautiful and vibrant, in a way that Dan thought he could only describe in underwhelming clichés.

  
“Here,” Phil said.

  
“Thanks,” Dan said. “I’d like to see you again?”

  
Phil smiled kindly. “Yeah, you will.”

  
A feeling of sudden impulsiveness passed through him; that was when Dan decided to be brave.

  
“Hey—uh, actually… could you drop me off at my flat? I could ring us a cab, or whatever.”

  
Dan knew it to be brash, inviting someone he'd barely known to his flat, but he could already feel a useless feeling creeping up into his chest, as he realised that he would be alone—without Phil—once more. He was pretty sure he'd do anything at all to hesitate that.

  
Phil's eyes lit up, the warmth of his grin returning. Dan thought he had such a pretty face. “Yeah! That sounds brilliant. We should. Now?”

  
“Now.” Dan affirmed.

  
At thirty minutes past the hour, they were sitting beside each other in a cab.

  
This had been the first time they were tangibly sat next to each other, and they were sitting just close enough that Phil’s thigh was pressed tight against Dan's. Even through the layers of their clothing, it was somehow comforting.

  
Dan stared down at his mobile. “Should I message you?” he whispered. The cabbie seemed quite uninterested in whatever they were, but he wanted to keep safe.

  
“Sure,” Phil whispered back.

  
The sun had set at during the time they were waiting. That darkness, crossed with the cold leather of the seats, had the cab feeling musty and tired. It reminded Dan of when he was a child, and pretending to be asleep after a long drive with his family. There was always something different about vehicles passing in the night.

  
He messaged Phil.

  
_dan: hi_

  
_phil: hi :-)_

  
Dan smiled, and turned to look at Phil. He was fixed, staring down at his mobile, the light reflecting onto his face.

  
He was just trying to think of something witty he could send to properly start a conversation with Phil when he felt a warm pressure fall against his right shoulder. He risked a glance.

  
It was Phil, as Dan thought it might be, nuzzled into the crook between his shoulder and collarbone. He looked relaxed, peaceful, as if he belonged there, and he was already very sure of it. There was none of the nervousness that might usually come with someone you've known less than a day.

  
“Hmm, you're so warm,” Phil mumbled. “It’s like a human water heater.”

  
“Yeah?”

  
“Yeah.”

  
Dan laughed, albeit, he sounded a tad awkward and unsure. “Don't fall asleep, just yet. I think we're almost at my flat.” A moment later: “Shit—yeah, we're here. C’mon?”

  
He still didn't know for sure whether Phil wanted to get out of the cab or just continue along the ride to his own house. Dan wasn't even completely sure if Phil would be able to do that; he usually rode the public bus when by himself.

  
“OK.” Phil sat up, seeming slightly delirious. “Yeah, OK. I'll walk you to your flat? Like… an eighties romance film.”

  
“Exactly,” Dan said.

  
A short few minutes later, after Dan had paid the cabbie, they were stood afront his apartment building in pitch darkness. It was freezing. His mittens were of no help.

  
“You look cold,” Phil acknowledged.

  
“Yeah,” he replied, “I am.”

  
After a moment of stilted silence, Phil began muttering. Dan thought maybe it was to himself. “Here, wait—” He began undressing his overcoat. “You can have my jumper. I don’t really need it.”

  
Dan laughed. “I’m, like, five inches from being inside, mate. I think I'll survive.”

  
“I don’t mind.” Phil gave him a shy smile, one with clear intent beneath it. “Really.”

  
“OK,” Dan said, breathless. He probably would appreciate an evidential reminder that Phil—and, in essence, the entirety of his day—wasn't some strange fever dream he would eventually fall out of. It still felt vaguely unreal, as if any heavy touch could shatter it all.

  
Phil’s jumper was knit, with multicoloured glitters stuck all along the fabric, making it look like a tiny galaxy. It was warming, and somehow it didn't feel uncomfortable to the touch. Dan hugged it close to his chest.

  
“Thank you,” he said.

  
Phil nodded. “So… I guess—I'll speak with you later, then?” He took a step back, kicking a loose pebble off the pavement with the heel of his trainer.

  
“Yeah, ‘course.”

  
*

  
Dan stepped inside his flat. He'd had the lights and heating turned off all day, which had it feeling particularly abandoned. Akin to a house that someone lived inside but had never quite moved into. Unpacked boxes in all the corners of the lounge. He thought that wasn't wrong; Dan loved living in Kingston upon Hull, despite early expectations, but it never felt the way a home should, really. Reading didn't feel like a home either. He didn't know.

  
He took off his mittens.

  
Dan didn't know what was to be done, since the steady flow of interaction between he and Phil had ended. It was close to evening, late enough that heading out again would be unfavourable, but early enough that he couldn't very well put himself to bed.

  
He decided upon ordering dinner—he wasn't in the mood to cook—as he hadn't ate anything proper since breakfast. As soon as he started paying some attention, he realised his stomach had been making aggressive, unpleasant noises.

  
An hour later, Dan was sat on his sofa, eating a large Domino’s pizza, snuggled up in the jumper Phil had given him. It was already his favourite item of clothing, making him feel an unfamiliar safe and content. He wondered if Phil would expect him to return it.

  
Dan thought he should message Phil.

  
_dan: i'm home safe_

  
_dan: i didn't die in the lift unfortunately_

  
_dan: i ordered dominos pizza sucks u didn't come home w me;-)_

  
_phil: WTF_

  
_phil: wish i did_

  
_phil: i want pizza!_

  
_phil: i’m not too jealous though as i’m having biryani tonight_

  
_phil: my flatmate/friend is making it so i think it might actually be quite good_

  
_phil: she said it's better when it's homemade bcuz takeaway always gets it wrong x_x_

  
_phil: i think i'm also just a really crappy cook haha_

  
Dan grinned. He had already begun to miss this, the easiness that was chatting with Phil. He was antisocial, introverted, and socially anxious, but the pleasant feelings that seemed to always come with them conversing gave a validation for it all.

  
_dan: smh_

  
_dan: good thing i learned how to cook in uni~_

  
_dan: lmao once i burnt pasta bc i didn't know you had to put water in the pot thingy and my housemates were cross_

  
_dan: so after that i bought like a billion cookbooks from different cultures_

  
_dan: i like mexican and indian food. i cook it a lot you'll have to come to mine and taste it someday_

  
_phil: i definitely will! sounds T A S T E Y_

  
_phil: it’s not even that late at night and i’m already yawning?!?!_

  
_phil: don't be like me don't age past 30_

  
_dan: “don't age past 30” how old r u even lol_

  
_phil: 31 :-P_

  
_phil: i'm gonna be 32 soon but i'm not that old_

  
_dan: yh you aren't that old_

  
_dan: if u were 39 it would be weird_

  
_dan: i mean i would def compliment u on aging so well bc u don't even have grey hairs lmao_

  
_dan: i think i do tbh but :-/_

 

_phil: IDK if i have grey hairs? i've dyed my hair like every month since university. i haven't seen it actually natural since i was like 14??_

  
_phil: i think probably_

  
_dan: what's ur natural hair colour?? :-O_

  
_phil: like a really ugly mouse brown that's kind of ginger as well? i have lots of freckles on my arms because of this_

  
_dan: that's amazing_

  
_dan: i love ginger ppl they're all so cute_

  
_dan: i wanna keep them all in glass jars and squeeze their freckley cheeks_

  
_dan: i guess that explains why you're so cute i could sense the ginge at first sight_

  
_dan: totally didn't think u were a cannibal abt to murder me or anything_

  
He did love ginger people. Many of his crushes throughout his schooling felt as though they had grown from paleness and freckles. He didn't know if that sounded odd, however. It wasn't his only preference anyway.

  
_phil: how do you know i'm not a cannibal about to murder you?_

  
_phil: i'll eat u up like in hannibal_

  
Dan laughed aloud at that. To himself—alone in his flat. The silence was never quite this cold before. Always so loud, his thoughts.

  
_dan: isn't hannibal gay_

  
_phil: we can be gay_

  
_dan: we WILL be gay i already have ur jumper it's written in stone mate_

  
_dan: btw do u want me to give it back because it’s vv v cozy and smells kinda like what i remember u smelling like so >:-(_

  
_dan: i will tho obvs i mean_

  
_phil: you can keep it!!! i want you to keep it i have loads of jumpers_

  
_phil: for return i ask for one of your jumpers the next time we see each other tho? like we're trading kind of_

  
Dan had plenty of jumpers he hadn't worn in years, but the image of Phil donning anything he had owned himself made his heart feel like it was squeezed inside his chest, in a radiant way.

  
_dan: ooh yes i can oblige_

  
_dan: btw when is that when r we meeting_

  
_phil: are you busy tomorrow? ;-)_

  
_phil: sorry if it’s weird to be together two days in a row LOL_

  
_dan: ofc i will go mystery cannibal man_

  
_phil: :-D_

  
_phil: wait BRB i’m going to shower RN i'll speak with you later??_

  
Dan's stomach dropped. He would be left lonely, uninterested, and it was very suddenly something he'd rather never feel again. Generally, he enjoyed his solitude from the interaction with other people, but it hadn’t ever been like that with Phil. He wanted to keep speaking with him forever.

  
He reasoned it would likely only be an hour or two; he could prepare himself for sleep.

  
Dan sent three showering emojis in a row.

  
*

  
Hours afterwards, as Dan lay in bed, he felt as he did after his first proper date, or when his secondary school girlfriend had repeated his ‘I love you.’

  
It was a giddy, stupid feeling. The same one he had been craving earlier in the day, the feeling of something new and adventurous happening.

  
He rolled over on his side, tangled up in his sheets. He'd felt an empty thing in his chest, immediately after he and Phil had parted ways, but this was a different low. He knew for sure that he wanted to know the entirety of Phil. He knew, also, that he would like Phil to be in his bed right now, next to him. He’d like to have dinners with him, and watch the telly, and celebrate festive holidays, and be annoying and poorly together when one of them catches something. He wanted to do nothing at all with Phil. It felt inevitable.

  
He was absolutely done for; he knew that as well. There wasn't any coming back from this feeling. It hadn't been the same as any of his Tinder dates or hookups. It wasn't lust. He fully had a crush on Phil, as if they were on the primary school grounds.

  
He wanted to hold Phil’s hand.

  
His mobile made a sound.

  
_phil: sorry! after showering i got ready for bed as i was really tired for some reason?_

  
_phil: i promise i’m not usually this old sounding_

  
_dan: you're not old! you sound v young i promise_

  
_dan: tbh i'm pretty tired too rn which is weird bc i haven't been able to sleep the past few days_

  
_dan: ur impact_

  
_phil: maybe i actually am a spirit sent to teach you a lesson like you said i was :-O_

  
_phil: the lesson of good sleeping habits_

  
Dan wondered how Phil had remembered that comment.

  
_dan: maybe??? wow if that's true can you fix all my other life problems too like depression/isolation_

  
_dan: lmao maybe that was a bit too far soz_

  
_dan: ty though_

  
_phil: i could try but i don’t know how helpful i would be :-( sorry_

  
_phil: but YW for the sleepiness_

  
_phil: some must of rubbed off on me because i can barely keep my eyes open!_

  
_phil: i think we should both sleep_

  
_phil: good night dan <3_

  
_dan: night phil <3_

  
Dan smiled at the heart Phil’d sent him and screenshotted it for him to look back at whenever he needed a lighthearted reminder. He knew he was being a dork, and that wasn't always unlike him, but this had felt like a particularly embarrassing way to be. He couldn't find it in himself to care at that moment.

  
He burrowed deeper into his blankets, feeling the soft against his bare chest.

  
He always held a pillow whilst he slept—he had liked having the comfort it brought him, the same way he felt whenever he hugged his childhood bear—but that night, he imagined that the pillow was Phil.

  
He had a thought that he hoped would become truth, somewhere far inside of him, that someday he would be really sleeping beside Phil every night. It was oddly forward for him, as he never promised himself this quickly into the future of any of his relationships.

  
With Phil, however, he felt so absolutely fearless in an uncommon way for himself. Not that if he was invited to go cliff-jumping, he’d accept, but rather, a kind of emotional impulsion.

  
Dan thought that, perhaps, it was his subconscious’ way of trying to anchor the fact that he was desperately missing Phil.

  
*

  
The last time Dan could remember—with some clarity that alcohol had never brought—waking up beside someone, wrapped in stronger arms, or a steady breathing beside him, had been that past May.

  
There'd been a woman—Audrey, he remembered her name was—who Dan had known a full two weeks, at the most.

  
He'd matched with her own one of those dating apps that wasn't Tinder, nor a well-known alternative, but a cheaply made trademark thing that passed by some automatic reader.

  
Audrey had been fun, enjoyable to be around. He recalled that one afternoon it had been raining, and she'd stopped their walking to collect all the tiny snails off the pavement and kept them safe in decorated jars afterwards, which he found to be incredibly endearing. She'd been to his flat twice, and there'd been a few overlaps in interest—PC games they'd played, Netflix series they’d both watched.

  
There hadn't ever been a tragic ending to their faux-relationship--there was no headache-inducing fight, or angst of any sort; it all just fizzled out into quick nothingness. It was a boring love from the beginning, not at all on her part, but rather, the both of them together. Almost as if it had been in a film, and when the scene of their first kiss eventually came, after all the executive-manufactured drama and tears, there'd been no triumphant background music to signify that the true climax of the story had arrived.

  
Back at that time, he'd guessed that perhaps he didn't mesh comfortably with people, like maybe he wasn't the sort of actor to be cast in a film at all. He'd become quite set in his intermediate ways.

  
The reason he’d been thinking of a past relationship, that particular morning, was because that was the most reliable memory he had for how it might've felt to wake next to Phil, rather than overheated, and largely alone; feeling like he had misplaced something important in his life.

  
Dan snuggled himself further into the mess of duvet his unruly subconscious had created during the night.

  
He was already properly awake, then, he knew. However, there was a part of him still holding onto hope that he could manage to sleep, until he was totally allowed to be with Phil again.

  
An hour later, he was standing in front of his open refrigerator, wearing only his pants, frowning to the lashins of food that’d made it the past week.

  
He shifted his weight from right foot to left.

  
Over the years, the thing Dan noticed he appreciated most about living near the ocean was that all throughout morning, he could hear seagulls from the windows in his flat.

  
It used to drive him mad, when he'd first moved to Hull. He'd prayed and wished on fountains for the familiar, tweeting birds of Reading to return and make everything a bit less aggressively loud and foreign. Praying did nothing much—it was every morning, whether he was asleep, cooking himself breakfast, or nestled in the spare throw blankets of his sofa.

  
Dan found it to be such a consistent thing, always the same obnoxious calls. Even after he’d moved flats, when he was feeling despairingly alone everyday; even when all of his work colleagues thought he was the same annoying the boys from secondary school would call him. None of that had ever seemed to stop the seagulls, who weren't affected by matters of a human. Ruthless things.

  
It grew to be something dependable for him. Which, although he was no longer homesick, he found himself so desperately needing.

  
He could hear the seagulls calling to one another.

  
“Right,” he said aloud, to himself, “breakfast.”

  
Dan began humming the Luma tune from Super Mario Galaxy to himself as he prepared the cream and eggs for his scrambled eggs on toast.

  
He could hear his mobile ring from his bedroom.

  
He instinctively let it ring off, like he often did, and would listen to the voicemail later in the day—before he realised there was a small chance that it could be Phil, ringing him to discuss about their arranged date.

  
A few seconds later, he was standing beside his bed, as he’d managed to answer at the end of the fourth ring. The call ID had been Phil.

  
“Hi?”

  
“Hey. I'm, uh… sorry to ring you. I would message, instead, but—I'm walking to Tesco for milk, right now, and I didn't want to, like, accidentally walk into a pole because I wasn't paying attention.”

  
“Don’t worry, s'fine.” Dan sat down on the bed, crossing a leg over his ankle. “Why did you ring?”

  
“I guess… to make sure you, uhm, still wanted to meet with me today? In case you changed your mind, or something.”

  
“Yeah, of bloody course I still want to. I've… been looking forward to it. We're meeting at one? Near Hull Marina?”

  
“We are,” Phil confirmed, “and we'll speak later?”

  
“Right.” He nodded, although he knew Phil couldn't see him.

  
“OK,” Phil said, voice gone quiet. Dan could assume he'd just entered Tesco and didn't want strangers listening in on their conversation. He'd act the same.

  
“OK,” Dan said, before ending the call.

  
The same low feeling from yesterday crept up inside his chest, as soon as he’d pressed his thumb to ‘end call.’ It followed from the tip of his toes, all the way to the rose-coloured patch on his cheek. It seemed as if it had always been there, familiar, whenever he wasn’t speaking with Phil. It was because Dan missed him.

  
He set back on preparing himself breakfast.

  
*

  
Fifteen minutes later, Dan was sat on the cold tiles of his kitchen floor, back against the cupboard. He'd gone into his bedroom to retrieve the jumper Phil had gifted him and was wearing it over one of his old, dirty t-shirts that he used for pyjamas in the winter.

  
He was counting down the seconds until he was sure Phil wouldn't be bothered by him ringing.

  
Whatever depressed, lonely feeling Dan felt before had quickly become overwhelming. He was nearly brought to tears by how much he missed Phil, how strongly; the surprisingly reassuring presence of him; his voice. This had all been quite ironic, considering at the same time yesterday Dan wouldn't have thought anything about Phil, one way or another. He’d never gotten on with someone like this before.

  
Dan was sure he could have made up romantic fantasies about human connection and love; there were the rubbish theories about soulmates. He was, instead, busy with ringing Phil. His mobile was pressed against his left cheek.

  
“Hello?” Phil answered, “did something come up?”

  
“No, uh,” Dan realised he didn't have any proper excuse to give for wanting to speak with Phil so soon after their last conversation had ended, “I just… dunno, I wanted to talk to you. I guess.” He sunk lower to the ground, bowing his head.

  
“Oh, really? That's… yeah, all right. About what?” Dan noticed the way a smile crept into Phil's voice.

  
“Anything. What're you up to?”

  
“I'm… uh, I'm walking to my flat, right now. Carrying milk.”

  
“Right. Yeah,” Dan said. “Jesus, how far is your flat from Tesco? Or did you spend like, twenty minutes looking through the dairy section?”

  
Phil chuckled. “Nah, my flat is like—fifteen minutes? This way and back. The walk is the only exercise I really get, though. So it's, uhm, OK.”

  
“Hench thighs?”

  
“Maybe. Maybe you'll see.”

  
The absurdity of the situation—Phil on a morning run to Tesco, on the public roads; Dan sat on the floor of his kitchen in pyjamas; both of them fully dressed and imagined to be unappealing to anyone—crossed with a lucid attempt at sexual flirting, made the entire situation awkward, yet attractive, in the best of ways. The least romantic thing he could invision. Dan started giggling uncontrollably.

  
“Shit—sorry. Should I not have said that? Sorry,” Phil asked.

  
“No, no. It’s—it's OK, I just…” Dan smiled, “we're so stupid.”

  
“We are?”

  
“In a good way,” he clarified.

  
“A good way.”

  
“Yeah. Definitely good. I don't want you to like, stop—or anything. It's just stupid.”

  
“It's stupid.”

  
Dan shook his head, grinning. He was fairly certain neither of them were reading from the same book, yet alone on the same page, but it made sort of a Mad Libs effect that felt enjoyable. He was quite sure he'd want to spend the rest of his life filling in these blanks of dialogue.

  
“How long until you're home?” Dan asked.

  
“Like… a few minutes, I think.”

  
“OK,” he almost whispered, “and we're meeting at one? It's eleven now.”

  
“Two hours.” Phil's voice had gone deeper, relaxed.

  
“Yeah. Two hours.”

  
They stayed like that for a few minutes, neither of them speaking, nor making a move to end the call. Dan could hear Phil’s breathing on the other line, as well as the lift ringing up and a final door shutting. Unlike the silence in his flat before, however, this hadn’t made him feel alone in the universe or entirely unloved. It didn't make his stomach feel like there was a black emptiness in the pit of it. It was just silence; comfortable and true.

  
“D'you wanna hang up?” Phil asked, eventually. “I don’t mind.”

  
“I don't wanna leave,” Dan said. He paused for a moment. The sunlight from his lounge window was shining directly into his flat, yet he felt a strong breeze pass over him. “I have unlimited service.” His voice had gone soft.

  
“OK, that’s fine, too.” He stopped. “I'm eating cereal, so sorry if, like, the mouth noises are gross.”

  
“It's fine,” Dan said, “I should probably finish making my breakfast, too. I'm having scrambled eggs.”

  
“What happened with it?” Dan could hear Phil chewing.

  
“Dunno… just—didn't feel like cooking, I guess. It'll only take a few minutes; I'll get on it now. I won't hang up, though. We can be, uh, proper domestic.” He stood up.

  
“Hmm. When I was younger, scrambled eggs were like… the only thing I ate. Because it was the only thing I cooked well. That, and, uh… cereal. I'm not that bad a cook, I know I'm making it seem like I am. I make curry, and my flatmate says it’s good. Low standards, I know. I'm not dead from starvation or food poisoning, yet.”

  
“Really? I don't think you're a bad cook. I'll eat at yours sometime. We'll have your scrambled eggs; I’m positive they're famous by now.”

  
Phil laughed. “Sure.”

  
“All right.” Dan had his mobile fit between his cheek and shoulder and his left hand on the handle of the frying pan. If available, he would always use the back-left burner, as it was his favourite. “Do you have any advice for making these perfect scrambled eggs, since you're obviously the expert?”

  
“I didn't say I was the expert. Uh, try adding a—a bit of cream? And… fluff them about. That's what my mum always told me to do. I can’t explain it, really.”

  
“I know that,” he said. “With both of our talents combined, I'm sure we'd win like, some third class award.”

  
“Best homemade scrambled eggs in all of Great Britain? Second place?”

  
“That's the one. I'm sure that's a real award somewhere, yeah.”

  
Their conversation faded off into a kind of quiet, disclosed presence only by the crunch in Phil’s cereal and the sizzling noise of Dan's frying pan.

  
“You done?” Phil asked, “cooking, I mean.”

  
“Mhm. Have you finished breakfast?”

  
“I have. My flatmate has a night shift, and I think she'll be home soon, so would you mind if I hung up, now? I don't want her to think I'm bit insane, talking to myself.”

  
“I guess,” Dan replied. He hated how much he already dreaded the end of their noisy silence. He didn't know how there was a difference. “Does she… know about me? I guess it's only been, like, a day. That’d be weird. Nevermind.”

  
“She does,” Phil said. “I—she was the one who wanted me to be brave, and start impulsively asking cute boys in café windows out, I guess. She’s very proud of herself. She thinks she's our cupid, now. I promised she'd be my best woman, at the wedding. If that's even a thing?” He paused, before letting out a breathy laugh. “Shit, that's a bit weird, isn't it? Sorry, she's highly romantic. I'm not like… sorry. Yeah, sorry.”

  
Dan felt his heart leap into his throat, momentarily making it difficult for him to fully move or think. His breathing was stuck, hitched at the concept of them getting married; of a proper wedding; of them knowing each other long enough so that could be a viable option at all. Phil talking about it—about him—with other people, as if he was any definitive plan. It wasn't an unpleasant thing he was feeling; completely overwhelming, if anything at all, considering how much attachment Dan already felt towards Phil. He felt his entire body go hot.

  
“It's OK,” Dan said, “it's fine. I don't mind at all. But… that means that—you don't have to… end the call, right? If she knows me? It’s OK if you do, I mean—”

  
“No, you're right. I won't,” Phil interrupted. He sounded out of breath as well. Almost. “Maybe I'll introduce you.”

  
“Maybe. OK.” Dan held the sleeve of Phil’s jumper to his nose and breathed in the scent. It smelled of some sweet conditioner, with vague hints of salt. Quite homely, he thought.

  
*

  
Half an hour later, Dan was lay as if he was a starfish on the kitchen floor; limbs outstretched. He had his mobile on speaker mode.

  
“I think,” Phil continued with his passing thoughts. They'd been discussing Muse albums and opinions for the last fifteen minutes, after finding a common ground in their pasts and music taste, “The 2nd Law isn't actually that crap, as an album. It's not my favourite, but I think a lot of people don't like it because of what critics say. It's not horrible.”

  
“Isn't ‘not horrible’ a low line, though? Music should be subversive, a new take on something… I think. They kept fucking around in all the wrong ways, just because the critics think so as well—that doesn't mean people who agree with that notion are, like, wrong, I guess? Dunno, maybe I'm just nostalgic for their old shit. I don't know about you.”

  
“Maybe. I reckon it didn't sound the best, though. At least their latest album was an upgrade, objectively, I think? The Resistance will always be my favourite.”

  
“Mate, mine too. Which is strange, because, like, everything about my life was shitty when it came out. I don't have a lot of good memories associated with listening to it. Maybe as more of a coping mechanism? Y’know? Now I can listen to it whilst I'm cooking dinner in my own flat, my own life, and be like… yes, good. Amazing. Cultural impact.”

  
“Yeah, I guess I understand that. Like—” Phil started, “wait, I think my flatmate is home. I'll be a minute.”

  
“Oh, OK?” Dan said. He heard shuffling on the line and hushed speaking that sounded distant.

  
“Uhm,” Phil replied a moment later, tone unsure, “she wants to, uh, talk to you? If that's all right? Only for a minute, I think, because she is quite busy at the moment. I can put on speaker mode.”

  
“Uhh, yeah? That's fine.” He sat up slightly, resting his elbows against the tiles.

  
“Hey,” an unfamiliar woman said. “I'm Rameen. Phil's friend, yeah?”

  
“Hi… I’m—my name’s Dan.” He was quick to be overcome with an anxious desire to appear proper and well put-together to everyone that held Phil dear in their lives; making a rounded first impression. He was never sure about anyone disliking him, but that time had felt particularly important. “Nice to speak with you. Phil is—” Dan’s mind ran a blank, “cool. I like him.”

“I like him too, thanks,” she replied, with a small chuckle. There was no edge or malice to her tone, but his worries seemed to only increase.

  
“That’s… nice.” Dan had forgotten his abundance of social awkwardness, having only spoken with Phil for the past few days. He was sure he’d be up that night, overthinking this; regretting every word that was said aloud.

  
“So, you thought he was handsome?” she continued, as if Dan hadn’t been acting a blundering idiot. “That’s what I’ve heard. And you haven’t stopped speaking, either. He interrupted our dinner plans to message with you. Dreadful flatmate, he’s been.”

  
“Shut up!” Dan could hear Phil call, from somewhere on the other side of a room. “I’m a good flatmate! It was only that one time.”

  
“You’re a good flatmate, OK. Bloody liar,” she returned, easily.

  
“Uhm,” Dan said, finally finding his voice. It sounded quiet, cautious, “yeah, Phil is… he's fit, y'know. I guess not really, actually.” He wasn't sure if anyone was paying him attention at that moment, which felt, to him, far more reminiscent of how the rest of his life had been than he would've liked.

  
“Fit, huh?” He could hear her laughing, and for a brief moment he wondered if she was making fun at him.

  
“I am fit, don’t lie to Dan. I have… my biceps have their own biceps. Have you even seen my abs?”

  
“I've seen you after a shower—can conclude that you don’t have abs.”

  
“Maybe you're just not looking for them hard enough,” Phil said.

  
He realised he was very well intruding on a private moment between friends, then. It seemed to finally dawn on him that Phil had an entire life Dan hadn’t been a part of—memories, inside jokes, and people he’d never know or understand. He felt very much like an outsider. He was not a part of this.

  
The emptiness that Dan seemed to feel whenever he wasn’t speaking with Phil was returning. An isolated thing. He wondered if it would ever leave him again, or if it was more of a permanent sort of state. He'd have to make a note to speak with his therapist about it.

  
“Sorry,” Dan said, “should I go? I don’t want to, like, inconvenience you guys, or whatever.”

  
“No, stay!” he heard Phil shout, his voice still far off, somewhere else. It was getting nearer, though. Rising in clarity. “She’ll be gone in a moment, anyway. Don’t worry about it.”

  
“Rude,” Rameen said to Phil.

  
“Really,” he continued, “it's fine. We're just like… this. She probably does want to shower, anyway, I reckon.”

  
“Yeah, you're right. I’d best be on that,” she said.

  
Dan had rolled onto his side. His back was aching, which he should’ve been able to foresee happening from laying on a uncomfortable floor for any period of time. “Sure. It was… you seem nice, Rameen. I’m glad Phil has such, uh, cool friends?”

  
“You too, Dan. G’bye.”

  
He could hear her walking off, to another corner of some other place he’d never been before. She was speaking with Phil. “He seems lovely. A bit odd, though. Good fit, you weirdo.”

  
Phil said something in response; Dan couldn't make it out.

  
He had a thought if his mobile battery was close to draining.

Phil’s voice became clear again. He took a breath, before saying: “Shit, sorry about that. You OK? I know, like…” He trailed his sentence off.

  
“Hmm,” Dan hummed, “I acted a bit dense, though. I reckon she thinks I'm a right cunt.”

  
“She does not,” Phil assured him. “She thinks you're a wonderful young man, the type you'd bring home to your grandma for tea. She's my grandma, now, I guess? Whatever. You were fine.”

  
“Wasn't that fine,” Dan muttered. He was being just a tad pissy about the entire thing; it had left him feeling off-kilter and anxious; he needed something to adjust himself. Someone to reassure him that it was properly OK.

  
“Tsk, tsk.” was Phil's reply. “I'm in my bedroom now, so we can talk about whatever. Or maybe… do you want to, like, go on your way? I know it's been awhile. You probably have a few things left to do before we’re together.”

  
“We were having an important discussion about Muse! And—not really, to be honest. I'll need to get changed. Right now I'm in my pyjamas, which consist of pants and the jumper you've given me. I doubt the people of Hull would be up for that show. Maybe… in a different scene, dunno. There are a few gay bars ‘round here.”

  
“Shut up, God. You’re awful.” Dan could almost hear Phil grinning through his mobile, so he knew it wasn't anything serious.

  
Dan had begun noticing that a safe feeling enveloped him whenever there was chatting between just he and Phil, as if he'd arrived home from a weekend trip in London—surrounded by traffic and inpatient businessmen—and was returning into the arms of his loving family. He wanted to knit whatever it was he felt in his chest into a blanket and snuggle with it on his worst days.

  
He let himself question, for a moment, if properly having a cuddle with Phil would create the same feeling snuggling such a blanket might.

  
“Mate. I've been, like, lying on the floor of my kitchen for the past forty minutes, I feel like hell. Is this what it's like to be old?” Dan asked.

  
“What the hell? Why would you do that? Just lay on your sofa, you twit.” The insult was said with a certain kind of affection, so that Dan felt the already familiar warmth, the same as if Phil'd just called him ‘love,’ or ‘babe,’ or any other term of endearment. He wondered if it mattered what someone called their partner in a relationship, so long as it was meant with fondness.

  
“All right, all right. I was cooking breakfast before, remember?”

  
“Crap. Yeah, you were.” He paused. “Well, you can go lay down now, right? In bed or on the sofa.”

  
“Sweet boy,” Dan muttered, already standing himself up from the stiffness of the tiles, stretching out his muscles.

  
A few minutes later, he was laying across his sofa in the lounge; an old throw blanket was drawn up over his lap.

  
“M’so comfortable, now. I'll just fall asleep like this, and then you'll be stuck waiting at Marina all day whilst I nap. Your own undoing.” Dan burrowed his face into the neck of Phil's jumper, muffling his voice.

  
“I reckon it's a fate I’ll accept, if it means you're not wasting away on your kitchen floor.”

  
“Too good, too pure,” he replied. “I actually am going to fall asleep if I stay here. I need to like… do something. Best keep me awake.”

  
“There's only an hour until we're supposed to meet; maybe we should be getting ready to leave? I guess it doesn't really matter. It doesn't affect anyone except for us. We could meet in the city centre at midnight, it’d be fine. We could.”

  
“We could.” Dan laughed, delirious. “God, I don't wanna go all the way to the harbour. I just wanna nap with you, or something. Dunno.” He immediately felt a heat rise up into his face, and covered himself with a hand, although nobody else could see.

  
“We could nap,” Phil replied. “I don't really care what I'm doing, as long as it's with you.” He had an audible stop in his thoughts. “Jesus Christ, that sounds cheesy.”

  
“Good. C'mere, I'll send you my address. We'll… fuck, I dunno. We can play Mario Kart, or something. We'll think of something. I’ll order takeaway, if you want.”

  
“I do want.”

  
“All right, then. Change of plans.”

  
“Yeah. Change of plans,” Phil said. His voice was full of warmth and care.

  
*

  
“You're almost here now, right?” Dan asked.

  
He'd told Phil his apartment building's address and his flat number. Phil was travelling there by the public bus, as they continued with their conversation. He had also finally gotten dressed in his grey joggers and socks with pineapple patterns.

  
Dan was beginning to feel that they would never truly be done with this, that the call they were in would never end at all. He wasn't lying about having an unlimited service plan, so he wasn't worried about it. If neither of them ever wanted to hang up, that would be OK, he thought.

  
He wondered if he was subconsciously using Phil as a distraction from the dark thing inside of his gut, but he quickly swallowed the feeling down. He felt a bit sick at the thought of using Phil—even if it was purely innocent with intention, or none at all.

  
That couldn’t really be why, Dan reasoned with himself. He'd felt alone before he met Phil, but it hadn't been the same. It was a different way. He only properly felt it in his gut when he missed Phil and wanted to be with him. It wasn’t anything he’d known before yesterday.

  
There was a chance that Phil just made him happy.

  
“I don't know? I think I am. My only memory of your flat is like, when it was already sundown. I don't recognize anything. I think… I'm pretty sure we'd passed that building, before.” Phil was speaking with a hushed voice.

  
“Don't most buildings look the same? Either way, it's all right if I order takeaway now? Are you hungry?”

  
“One thing you'll learn about me, Daniel, is that I'm always hungry. You should order—” He cut himself off, “is your full name Daniel? I don't know. Maybe your name is actually, like, Danny. That's so American.”

  
“It is Daniel. You must be psychic. Is yours… let me guess, you're a Philip?”

  
“I am a Philip. Smart boy. It's spelled with one L, though. Not two. My teachers in primary school always got that one wrong. My mum… her name has a Y, when it isn't usually spelled that way. She did that for my brother, too. I should be called Philip. P-H-Y-L-Y-I-P. I reckon that's wrong. I'm not too good with spelling aloud.”

  
Dan chuckled to himself. He was at the stage in their knowing each other where he found everything Phil did, or said, adorable; only more cause for his boundless attraction. He hoped it wouldn't fade as quickly as it often could, for him. The infatuation made his life much more colourful.

  
“Mm. I think—pretty sure mine’s spelled the regular way, but imagine if it was D-A-N-Y-L? Much cooler.”

  
“Yeah, I’d—” Phil said, “crap, I think this is the stop. Ring me in? Like, I'm still on the bus, now, obviously…”

  
“OK. I’ll ring you in. Tell me when.”

  
Phil's tone went even lower; more gentle, if it had been possible. “I will.”

  
Dan listened close as Phil thanked the driver and walked the familiar journey from the curb of the pavement down the road, following a little pathway, and to the entrance.

  
“All right. I'm here. Beam me up, Scotty.”

  
“You will be beamed, Kirk. Wait.”

  
“Thanks,” he said. Dan could hear the entrance door slam itself shut with the wind. “Wow, why is the ground floor is so cold? Does your landlord turn on the heating, at all?”

  
“Probably not. Saves money, I think. Taking the lift is like being cryogenically frozen for a moment, be warned.”

  
“OK. You're on the fourth floor?”

  
“I am. You could take the stairs, I guess.”

  
“Definitely not.”

  
He laughed. “All right, mate.”

  
*

  
“I'm outside your door,” Phil told him.

  
“Jesus Christ, that sounds ominous.”

  
“I am a cannibal, after all. I'm only here to feast upon your bones. I'll… I'll eat your arse.”

  
Dan let out a hefty laugh, one he felt with his entire being. “God, man. You need to reel it in. Not that—but… yeah. Anyway, I reckon we should end the call now?”

  
“Probably. I'm stood two feet in front of you; we're only separated by a steel door.”

  
“OK,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I'll see you.”

  
“You will.”

  
Dan took a breath and pressed his finger against ‘end call.’ He felt a sinking feeling bloom inside him, spreading its growth as if it were a virus appearing in a nanosecond, or a kind of deadly weed with its roots snaking all around his organs; making a lovely, artistic photograph, but feeling like internal hell. It was an immediate dread, like his body hadn't been properly informed that Phil was right there—not far away at all, and certainly not unwilling to continue conversation through whatever means.

  
He opened the door to his flat.

  
“Hi,” Phil greeted.

  
He smiled, a warm, sunshine feeling entering his lungs and replacing the weeds of previous. “Hey.”

  
“It's nice to see you again,” he said, “it's been awhile, hasn't it?”

  
“Right. How many seconds? Fifteen, at the least.” He stepped aside. “Come in.”

  
“So,” Phil started, “what're we having as takeaway? Mexican? Thai? Indian?

  
“I was thinking Italian?”

  
“Sure. I don't know anywhere that delivers Italian food in Hull, though. I guess I haven't looked, really.”

  
“That's where our Lord and Saviour, Google, comes in. It's amazing technology, to be honest. You just… type in a question, or ask this robot—it's called Siri, I—”

  
“All right, all right, I get it!” Phil slapped lightly against Dan's shoulder, causing them both to start giggling uncontrollably.

  
“I'll even…” Dan gasped through his laughter, “I'll even show you have to use this thing called a telephone, later, if you—”

  
“Shut up!” Phil was grinning, and it had been such a sweet thing to see in person. He'd grown accustomed, in the past two hours, to only interpreting the various emotional reactions of Phil through sound. The sight of it had been a nice sort of gift.

  
Dan was then overwhelmed by a sudden feeling of gratitude—that he'd met Phil; that Phil had been riotous enough to walk up to a stranger in a café, and ask to join him; that he’d agreed; that any divine entity Dan didn't quite believe in would allow them the time together.

  
“I really, really like you,” Dan said, suddenly, overcome with his emotions.

  
“Strange,” Phil replied, facing towards Dan, “I really, really like you too.”

  
*

  
By half one they were both sat on Dan's sofa, unboxing the Italian takeaway that had just been delivered.

  
They had ordered from ASK Italian; Dan was having Purple Basil Pesto Genovese, along with Spaghetti Al Pomodoro. Phil had gotten himself Penne Al Pollo Della Casa. It had come with soda pop.

  
Phil had complained of the amount of cheese that came with Dan’s order, to which he returned a complaint about the meat that’d come with Phil's order. That had stopped both their whinging, and made Dan feel as if, for just a moment, they were an older married couple who’d had these sorts of arguments a thousand times over; it had been a comfortable thought, something he hoped for someday.

  
“What'd you think we should do whilst we eat?” Phil asked.

  
“Dunno. Do you watch anything?”

  
“Do I watch anything?” he mimicked. “Yeah, obviously I do. I—have you ever seen The Great British Bake Off? Or do you reckon it’d be weird to watch sweets whilst you're eating dinner? Lunch? Lunch.”

  
“Of course I've seen Bake Off, mate. I'd love for you to try and find someone from the U.K. who hasn't watched it yet. Might be a bit weird, with lunch, though. Maybe we’ll watch it afterwards. Dessert.”

  
“I want something home-y. I don't want to think about anything for the next five hours. My brain better… I'll, like,” Phil made a motion of unscrewing and removing the top half of his skull, before tossing his brain to the floor. “Yeah?”

  
Dan chuckled. “Yeah, sure. OK. I think I saw something like… have you ever seen a home renovation show? Or gardening?”

  
“Yes! That would be good. We can be proper grandmas, then.”

 

“Don't—I mean, uh, I'm sure there are loads of grandpas watching gardening shows, right? Definitely.”

  
“True, there are. I would. I wonder what kind of things there'll be running on television when I'm old,” Phil questioned.

  
“Probably propaganda stations about how robots are better than humans, and we should all submit to them,” he replied.

  
“But is it propaganda if it's true? Who are we to say humans are better than robots? Isn’t that a bit biased?”

  
“Dunno. Are you a robot? Trying to brainwash me?” Dan asked.

  
“No, Daniel. I’m a perfectly human man. I have blood and skin that isn't made of metal and bolts. I promise, Daniel. Do you believe me, Daniel?” Phil attempted to do an impression of an electronic-sounding monotone voice and started shifting closer on the sofa towards Dan, arms outstretched. It fell a bit lackluster, but Dan found himself grinning fondly at it nonetheless.

  
He held a fist dramatically to his chest. “Of course, my robot—sorry, my human overlord. How could I ever doubt you?”

  
“You can't.”

  
A few minutes later, they'd settled into the food, with the eighth episode of a season of George Clarke's Amazing Spaces playing in the background.

  
“If you could have,” Dan started to ask, “like, if your flat—or you could buy a house, or whatever—if it could look like anything you wanted, what would it look like? Dream home. Anywhere.”

  
“I think… uhm, I'd… well, if it could be anywhere, in Japan? Maybe? I love the culture there, I want to visit someday.”

  
“Mate, me too.” Dan took a forkful of his spaghetti. “Like… it's such a beautiful country, y’know? Don't know if I'd want to live there. It's… I don't know any Japanese, I think it might be a hard language to learn. Maybe I'd have a vacation home there.”

  
“Yeah. If, like… well, if we're saying it has to be in the U.K., I'd say I'd want it somewhere in a city? Not, like, a small flat—but, yeah. It'd have windows everywhere. Every wall. And I'd have sort of a brighter colour scheme? Carpets, because wooden floors and tiles make your feet cold in the morning.”

  
“But all the modern homes have wooden floors! It looks better, carpets are lame.”

  
“Hush. I'd have carpets. Not in the kitchen, obviously. Ooh, maybe I'd get heated floors? And toilet seats. Very posh, that. I’d want… uh, definitely would have like, things everywhere. That sounds stupid, but I hate when houses look as if they've been taken straight from an Ikea magazine. Like… you can't even tell anything about who lives in them. I would want posters on the walls—framed, or I'd have paintings—of all my favourite animes and video games. In my flat now, I have a signed Muse picture thing from a long time ago. And a wall in my bedroom dedicated to Muse album vinyls, it's very cool. I'd have Amiibo figures and plushes everywhere. And pillows with like, character designs on them. I would—yeah. Basically my flat now, but with more money put into it, and a better view.”

  
Dan had been watching Phil excitingly rant about his dream home, with intense attention, and adoration. Phil had been speaking quickly with his hands as he made his points, listening things off and explaining himself, making note of his existing practices. Dan’d been humming along in the same way.

  
“Christ, that sounds bloody amazing. I'd love to live someplace like that. You'd be a good interior designer.”

  
“I don't think so, really. Maybe we just have the same kind of taste? You wouldn't think so, looking at your flat. It's quite plain—no offence.”

  
“No, you're right. It is. I never properly cared for decorating it, considering nobody else lives with me. You have a flatmate.”

  
“My flat isn't only decorated because someone else lives with me, Dan.” Phil’s tone had gone softer, gentle. Like a mother cooing on her child.

  
“Well…” He didn't have any defence for himself. “Yeah, that’s true.”

  
“Someday I'll come to yours and help you decorate, yeah? I'll give you some of my Amiibo, if you have a Nintendo Switch. It'll be a good home.”

  
“It will,” Dan said, staring down at the Italian food sitting on his lap, willing himself not to be choked up over something as silly as their conversation over home renovations.

  
“Hey,” he said, “we should probably starting paying attention again. I reckon he's about to pull apart this place.”

  
Dan nodded in silent agreement, looking back to the telly.

  
*

  
“I have a puzzle,” Dan said, out of nothing spoken before.

  
They'd finished eating their Italian and were now sitting, legs pressed close together, binge-watching the latest season of Bake Off. They were halfway through the fourth episode.

  
“A puzzle?” Phil smirked, as if Dan had just called out to the entire neighbourhood that he intended to stick a dildo up his arse. He knew it was just out of a certain fondness, though. Even so early into their relationship, he could tell Phil wouldn't ever have any malicious intentions.

  
“Yeah. My—uh, my grandma brought it for me, when she was visiting a few months back. I haven't finished it, yet. I thought… that it was kind of silly, to be a grown man doing a puzzle by yourself, on a Saturday evening. It’s a picture of a basket of puppies. They're, uhm… they’re the same breed my family dog is, whose name is Colin. That's why she bought it, I'm sure.”

  
“Oh my gosh, puppies? A basket of puppies? That must be the cutest thing ever! We should definitely try it. How many pieces?”

  
“Five-hundred? I think. I don't know, it's, like, in a spare wardrobe. I'll go get it.”

  
“Wait,” Phil said.

  
“Hmm?” Dan turned back to him.

  
“Uhm,” he looked down to his feet, “you… when we were messaging, yesterday, you said that you'd give me one of your jumpers? As exchange? I thought I could wear it when we're doing this puzzle.”

  
Dan clapped his hands together. “Oh! Yeah, I can get one of my jumpers for you. For sure. I'll just be a moment.”

  
A moment's time did pass, and Dan was standing in front of his wardrobe.

  
He needed to decide which hoodie of his own he would bring out to Phil, but he dreaded sorting through his clothing. It was a mess of things he hadn't worn in years, and would never wear again, that should’ve been donated to charity shops, but were instead collecting dust. He had decided on giving Phil a hoodie, rather than a jumper, because all the jumpers he didn't wear often were of horrendous quality. Some even had moth bitten holes, and he was sure he could hear his nana shaking her head in such a disappointment.

  
After an a few minutes of sorting, thinking through the little information he already had about Phil and his fashion taste, Dan settled upon a green hoodie he’d bought a few years back. It had Japanese lettering across the back, although Dan had never bothered looking into what it actually meant. He supposed he could've been travelling all across the United Kingdom with the word ‘penis,’ in bold lettering, he wouldn't know.

  
He decided not to subject Phil to such a fate. He took a translated image of the phrase, ‘桜の花,’ and it had a meaning of ‘cherry blossom,’ so Dan thought that was sort of lovely.

  
“I've got your hoodie!” Dan called towards his lounge, “I haven't abandoned you, I'll be out with the puzzle soon!”

  
“OK!”

  
Dan walked into the lounge, the hoodie he'd chosen for Phil folded atop the puzzle box. “Here it is. Sorry it's, like, not a jumper, but—”

  
“Don't be. I love the colour, very modern-sludge.”

  
“What are you,” he smiled, “a fashion expert?”

  
“Yes. I got my professional university PhD when I was only four months old. It's my life calling.”

  
“All right, mate.” He passed the hoodie to Phil. “The puzzle is five-hundred pieces, by the way. Should be finished by the time you've gotten out of here.”

  
“What, do you want me to leave?” Phil looked up to him.

  
“No, no. Not at all. I didn't think you'd want to like, move in with me at a moment's notice, though. You'll leave eventually, yeah?”

  
“I guess you’re right.”

  
“Nevermind that. Do you like it? The Japanese thing on the back means ‘cherry blossom,’ by the way, nothing too obscene.”

  
“Oh my God! I do love it. It's great, thank you. You know me well.” Phil was grinning whilst he looked it over. “I'll get dressed in it now. You can lay out the puzzle?”

  
“Yeah, ‘course. We need to separate the pieces into their types, first. I'll start with that bit.”

  
“Right. Corner, edges, and… the rest of it.”

  
“Mm-hmm,” Dan hummed in agreement, “actually, I’m gonna make us some tea first. It'll be more relaxing that way. Do you like Chai?”

  
“Sure, Chai is fine. I like a lot of sugar in mine, though. Make it sweet.”

  
“For some reason... I thought that you might.”

  
Dan walked into his kitchen and started heating the kettle on stovetop. The entire moment was domestic, uninteresting, and not at all the kind of date someone should be having with a mysterious, handsome man he’d met not more than a day ago. It was something to be done when everything else had been finished, when they'd already gone to the fancy restaurants and carnivals; when they'd already rode the big wheel together.

  
He found that he didn't mind, however. He was fully content that it was what both of them wanted to have been doing in that moment, and there was no feeling of needing that change that, or to impress some unknown societal standard among them.

  
Drinking Chai tea and finishing puppy puzzles was just as wonderful a thing to be doing that evening, he thought.

  
*

  
Phil placed a piece right at the centre of the puzzle. “I think that's the puppy’s nose.”

  
“Are you sure it's not part of the dirt? I can't tell anymore. All my eyes can see is like, dog puzzle. My brain just keeps on thinking, like—it just repeats ‘dog puzzle, dog puzzle, dog puzzle, dog puzzle, dog puzzle, dog puzzle,’ whenever I pause to think or breathe.”

  
“Same. I'm pretty sure when I go to Isle of Man for Christmas, I'll just see my mum and go ‘dog puzzle,’ instead of saying hello.”

  
Dan smiled at that, although it was a tired thing. “Yeah. I think we should probably take a break, for a minute. I think I have a few biscuits left in one of the cupboards; I'll bring them out,” he said, standing himself up from the sofa.

  
“Oh. What kind?”

  
“Chocolate wafers.”

  
“Sounds delicious. Did you know… uh, I'm allergic to chocolate? Or sensitive, at least. Whenever I eat it, like, the roof of my mouth starts to burn. I always thought that was normal.”

  
“Hmm, really?”

  
“Yeah. When I was, like, eight… I asked a boy in my class about it, as we'd both just had chocolate milk and my mouth was really burning. I asked if his was too, dunno why, and he said it was? I don't know why he said that, it isn't normal.”

  
“Maybe he said it to fit in? Didn’t want to seem odd. Children are insecure bastards, to be honest,” Dan said, sorting through the boxes in his kitchen cupboards. “I know I was. Although... that didn't stop me from being obnoxious to everyone.”

  
“I was just an anxious child? I was so scared, all the time. I didn't want to ring the barber for a hair appointment. Maybe that was more when I was a teenager, I think.”

  
“Aw, bet you were a cute kid. Little ginger baby, right? I was… I was such a—very flamboyant, as a child. My nana has these tapes, and there's this video of me—”

  
“Your nana?”

  
“Uh—yeah. My grandma, I mean,” Dan said, pausing his rummage through the month overdue crisps and savoury biscuits and feeling his entire body rise a few degrees in temperature, up to the tops of his ears.

  
“Aww, you still call your grandma ‘nana’? That's so sweet.”

  
“Shut up.”

 

“I'm not taking the piss! It is sweet. She buys you puppy puzzles; I'm sure you're a wonderful grandson. I’d guess I'll be getting puppy puzzles from my mum, this Christmas, too. She knows me well.”

  
He closed the cupboard door a bit harsher than was needed. “That's another plan, isn't it, then? After Christmas you can bring your puzzle to mine, and I'll cook you Mexican food. It'll be an evening.”

  
“It is a good plan,” Phil agreed.

  
“I reckon I should visit your flat at some point, as well—make amends with Rameen, before she properly hates me and thinks I'm an utter twat.”

  
“You aren't a twat, and I don't think she'll hate you. You're—like, brilliant. I doubt her flatmate's… friend, being a bit awkward on the line is the worst thing she's been through in her life. You're fine.”

  
Dan raised an eyebrow. “Friend?”

  
“Uhm… yeah. Like, if you wanted. I figured we've talked together, quite a bit… and stuff.”

  
“Of… yeah, I mean—of course. We're friends, I think that’s right.” He pulled the wafer biscuits from the back of a cupboard, hidden behind a jar of pasta sauce. “OK. I just thought, like—”

  
Dan mentally admonished himself for believing that they'd already been dating, considering it hadn't even been a proper day of talking. They’d never even kissed, or touched in any tangible way, at that. It was just that he'd felt closer to Phil than he had at this point in other relationships, and his mind had lost track of it.

  
“Thought what?” he asked.

  
“No, it's all right.”

  
“Really.”

  
“I'd meant, like, dating, I guess? Because you said I was cute when you saw me in the café, so I assumed. Which, uhm… obviously, it doesn't—”

  
“No, you're right,” Phil said, “I thought because with most people… like, uh, they're not dating until a few dates in, yeah? I guess I assumed it'd probably be something like that. Which, I guess… it doesn't matter, as long as we both agree on it. Maybe it felt odd? As at this point—like I could be a one-night thing, that you'd met somewhere, drunk, still… I mean, if we'd had sex. Obviously we didn't.”

  
“Yeah, we didn't. Isn’t it a bit different? I reckon we could be dating now, if we wanted to. We could've, uh, been dating the moment we first starting speaking. We're weird enough for it.”

  
“I’d want to date you,” he said, suddenly, before pausing to collect his thoughts. “We just—we get on well, is all. It's only been a day, and this sounds daft, but I feel like I want to be with you all of the time. It could just be that weird honeymoon thing? But, like, I just want to be with you. I'd rather be with you than alone, so I'm glad you like me too. Sorry—I'm waffling.”

  
“I like when you waffle,” Dan replied. “But yeah, me too. This is going to sound right bloody stupid, but when I was in bed last night, I wondered what it'd be like if you were sleeping beside me, and when I woke up. Not even in, like, a sexual way. I just don't… want to be apart from you, you know? Which is actually fucking—dunno, because obviously we've got to be apart sometimes. Personal space, and our jobs. You have an entire other flatmate, and your mates. You surely do.”

  
“I'd like to wake up beside you, though. I thi—I definitely would like to. We can do that soon, yeah? We're adults, we've got our own flats. Nothing is stopping us from being weird all the time. Apart from life.” Phil said.

  
“Life can fuck off,” Dan said, with far more venomous emotion in his voice than he'd intended for it. He suddenly felt a type of burning frustration at any abstract thing he thought might hold him back from being with Phil. Beneath that feeling, somewhere, was a vastly intensified form of the giddy one, from last night messaging Phil, whilst he was lay in bed. The same kind of renewed excitement. “So, we're dating? I found the biscuits, by the way. Do you want a glass of milk with them?”

  
“Yes! Thanks.” Phil had a thoughtful pause, before he said, more gently, “On both accounts.”

  
Dan shook his head in an amusement of sorts that he had already begun getting comfortable with; that familiar, eternal, fondness of the same variety had returned, as well, and was washing over him.

  
“Oh, crap. I forgot you're allergic to chocolate. Do you still want them? I probably have some other kind of sweet, somewhere.”

  
“No, ‘course I still want some. I’d power through for the chocolate-y deliciousness anyday. Plus, I’m technically lactose intolerant, too.”

  
“For fuck’s sake, mate. If I have to call you a cab to A&E because you like, had a stroke whilst you were eating this—you can't put any blame on me.”

  
“I'll take that risk.”

  
*

  
Half an hour later, Dan was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his coffee table, biting at his bottom lip, puzzle piece in hand. Phil was lying on the sofa behind him, with a throw pillow hugged between his arms.

  
“I feel like crap,” Phil said.

  
“Because of the chocolate? I know you do. I'm almost done with this section, and then we'll watch a film. Something mindless.”

  
“How close are you?”

  
“M’almost there,” Dan said, before stopping, realising the innuendo, and falling out into a loud laughter. “Fuck. We're the worst, ever.”

  
“You're not the worst.”

  
“Maybe I am. You don't know me that well, yet. I could be a serial killer. Brought you to my flat to murder you, and eat up your bones. I attempted to lure you in last night, but you were so cute I couldn't resist letting you go free. It’s my master plan.”

  
“Wow, and I thought we really had a connection,” he deadpanned.

  
“Murder connection. You're a cannibal, I'm a serial killer. We both attempt to kill each other, before realising. Then we live happily ever after; killing innocent children and torturing their parents. And we eat them, because you like to. Gay Netflix romcom of twenty-nineteen, to be honest. I'd watch.”

  
“See? We do get on. Destined to find each other in every universe.”

  
Dan fit another piece into a corner of the puzzle. “You don't really buy into that soulmate shit, do you?”

  
“Not fully. I reckon it'd be horrible if you, like, had a soulmate and then they die when they’re a baby? Then you're alone forever. Also, what happens if you fall in love with someone who isn’t your soulmate, but you really, really love them? Or you fall in love again as an old man, after your soulmate’s already lived a long life with you. Or you’re aromantic? Asexual? I suppose you could have a friendship soulmate. I don’t know, it's a lot of variables.”

  
“Hmmm, right. Too many variables. Love whoever you want, however. Fuck fate.”

  
Phil sat up slightly. He had the pillow balanced on his knees, elbows leaning against it, head rested in his hands. “Good life motto.”

  
“Yeah, I should write them for a living. Like, a poster in a school classroom. ‘Fuck fate,’ it reads, with a picture of a majestic swimming elephant. That'd do well, surely.”

  
“I'd buy into it.”

  
“Would you? Nice motivational poster.”

  
“It is,” Phil laughed.

  
“Just a few more pieces left, now,” Dan muttered to himself.

  
“Oh! I wanna help, I'll do the last piece.”

  
“Your stomach feeling up to it?”

  
“Mmm. You made me feel a bit better, to be honest. Distracting. Turns out laughter is the best medicine?”

  
“Clearly I'm out to rid you of all ailments, then.”

  
Phil sat himself up straight, before leaning over to the coffee table, still hugging his pillow. “Please do.”

  
“Here's the last piece, mate. The far left puppy's eye.” He passed it over his shoulder to Phil.

  
“Thanks!” Phil placed the last piece of the puzzle. “You did a good job,” he said, as he mussed up Dan’s curls with a hand, as if he were a child who'd just made a rather impressive football score.

  
Dan could immediately tell his cheeks, and entire face, were going an embarrassingly bright shade of hot pink. His entire body started to shake with nervous giggling before he covered himself with both his hands. “Fuck off. You helped too.”

  
“You did most of the puzzle, though. When I was lay being useless and ill on your own sofa. You're really so, so talented. Amazing at this.” He could acutely tell that Phil's voice had taken a mocking tone, but one filled with an undertone of genuine adoration for him.

  
Flustered, Dan said, with an audible smile to his voice: “I hate you.”

  
Phil promptly stopped his teasing and went into a stilled silence. Dan turned back to face him to make sure he was OK. He didn't look cross, or upset, as Dan had imagined he might have. He looked a bit floaty.

  
“Sorry. I didn't, like, actually—”

  
“Dan!” Phil started laughing, properly from his entire soul, and the joy spilled out into the rest of Dan's flat. It hadn't felt so alive in years.

  
“You're so bloody stupid. Now that you've said that—we… we haven't said the L thing. You said you hated me before you said you, y’know, uh, loved me—if you were to do that. We're gonna have to tell this to people, someday. You've ruined it, you have.”

  
The realisation hit Dan at that same moment, and had him instantly with a grin spread across his entire face, dimples showing deeply. “Fuck. You're right. We're absolute idiots.”

  
“Love your enemies, Dan.”

  
“Sorry!” He stopped laughing a moment to breathe, and he remembered his thoughts from hours earlier, about the fondness and emotional meaning behind words spoken between them. It all had the same love behind it. “Well… I guess it doesn't matter, anyway. I didn't really mean that I hate you.”

  
“Yeah. You didn't, after all.”

  
A few moments pass, with the room being entirely quiet. It hadn't felt uncomfortable, but it wasn't a well known thing, either. As if it were a small feeling into his future; or he’d already lived there, but travelled back and forgotten all his memories, but not the muscle movements. Like visiting your childhood home, but your family is speaking a language you don't understand. A type of foreign familiar.

  
“Uh, would it be OK if you…” Phil spoke up, pulling Dan back from his introspective thinking. His voice was small. “Would you want to come—lie with me? On the sofa?” He held one arm open, avoiding eye contact.

  
Dan stopped. His heart felt like it had skipped a few beats. “Wh—I… yeah, of course, I would. Yeah.”

  
Phil held his arms open, before hugging Dan closely to his chest.

  
Although it had been initially awkward, and Dan had accidentally slapped Phil against his face whilst they arranged themselves so as they were both feeling more comfortable, he immediately noticed how relaxing it all felt. Phil’s warmth, apt happiness, and colour felt as if it was bleeding from his skin, through into Dan's, as they lay together. He smelled like the same sweet conditioner Dan had noticed on his knit jumper the previous evening, except it was stronger; lingering. It was safe, and the entire rest of the world felt quite irrelevant.

  
It was a high he didn't feel like he would ever come down from. He'd cuddled with people before, and gotten more intimate than that—but it had been a long while, and he’d read in some online listicle that humans are sociable creatures, and need human affection and touch almost daily; as well as general conversational interaction. He had none of those things, and wondered if it took a toll on his mental health. He was an introvert by nature, but he still loved people.

  
He could feel Phil's heartbeat with every breath they took together, thudding a beat off from his own. He could feel his ribs.

  
Dan wrapped his arms around Phil’s shoulders, threading his fingers together as they rested, and nuzzled his nose into that spot between Phil's collarbone and chest.

  
He held him tightly.

  
*

  
When Dan awoke, the entire flat was surrounded in darkness and felt vaguely surreal. It was almost comparable to a dream, except more lifelike and vulnerable. He had a slight headache, he was groggy, and his entire body was surrounded by a burning heat.

  
He blinked a few times before properly opening his eyes to the lounge and kitchen. He could somewhat make out a few shapes of it: his refrigerator, a lamp, and a duvet that must've fallen to the floor at some point during the night.

  
Phil was still asleep underneath him, breathing heavy and relaxed, one arm dropped over the side of his sofa, the other on Dan's back.

  
Dan had attempted to sit up and stretch himself, but as soon as he shifted to his side he elbowed Phil sharply, directly in the gut.

  
“Hmphh—fuck!” Phil groaned, half-asleep but knowing he was in a sort of pain. It must’ve been such an confusing position to be in and feel. “What the hell?”

  
“Crap. Sorry… I’m—tryin’ to sit up.”

  
“Mm.” As he adjusted to the dark, he could see Phil closing his eyes once more, taking a breath; mournfully pressing his right hand against his gut.

  
“Sorry,” Dan repeated. He hadn't even been completely sure Phil was paying him any attention. “What time is it? S'dark out.”

  
“Dunno?”

  
“Uh, right. I'll… I think I left my mobile on the table, can you move over for a second?”

  
“Yeah.” Phil reluctantly moved himself so he was sat upright, arms wrapped around his knees, gaze drawn over to Dan. He was sure he looked like hell, himself. Both their clothing was sure to be a wrinkled mess when their day together was completely done with, and Dan hadn't fully paid attention to how put-together he looked since the morning before they’d met.

 

He pressed his thumb against the home button on his mobile, and it lit up with the time. “It’s… uhm, it's half past two. In the morning.”

  
“Is it?” Phil asked, a hint of something Dan couldn't make out undertoned in his voice.

  
“Mm-hmm. We must've fallen asleep… when? Was it four? Or five. We slept through the evening, I guess. Haven't had a sleep schedule that fucked in years.” Dan rubbed at his eyes. “Did you have somewhere you needed to be? Rameen?”

  
Phil shook his head, and his hair fell messily over his eyes. “Yeah. No, she didn't… uh, it's fine. I already took the week off work for Christmas. I don't—I don't have anything, I think.”

  
Dan scooted himself closer to Phil on the sofa. They'd been sat at opposite ends. “You OK?”

  
“Just a bit tired. Should we go back to sleep, now? Or should I have a coffee? I mean, I reckon I wouldn't fully be able to sleep anymore. M’like… what's the word?”

  
“Grumpy?”

  
“Grumpy,” he confirmed. “And I can't think whilst the light's are off.”

  
“I'll make us coffee. And turn on the light in the lounge. Obviously—need to see to prepare coffee.” Dan properly stretched as he stood up, letting out a satisfied moan as the joints in his back and shoulders cracked. “God. I can’t believe I was living my life like this, all the time—when I was in university. I wouldn't sleep for days, or pass out on the floor of our halls. Kids are bloody immortal.”

  
“It's because we're old, now,” Phil said. It sounded like it was meant to be a joke of sorts, but his sleepiness made its way into his voice, leaving it sounding rather dull and uninterested.

  
Dan let himself relish in the feeling that Phil had said it as if he'd known Dan longer than a few days, including the ‘now.’ As if they were childhood friends who'd grown up together, and he had known Dan all those times he didn't sleep; he hadn't, of course, but it was fun to pretend it.

  
He’d made his way into the kitchen and started to boil water in his kettle. “Fuck off. We're not old. I'm, like, literally in my twenties. You're only… what? Thirty-one? Who told you that was old, mate?”

  
“Not actually old, you're right. Isn’t it st—” He let his sentence cut itself off. “Nevermind.”

  
“No. What?” Dan asked.

  
“Shush, I'll tell you later. I'm too tired to even think. I haven’t had my morning coffee.”

  
“Sure. The water’s on, now. It'll be a few minutes.”

  
“I usually drink instant coffee, at my flat,” Phil said.

  
“God, really? That's the plebiest thing I've ever heard. Like Americans making tea in the microwave. Instant coffee?”

  
“Yes! I like how it tastes.”

  
“Mate… if you're putting like, twelve sugars in, and a fuckload of creme, it's not even the coffee you like. You like sweetened creme with, like, caffeinated water and minerals.”

  
“Don't disrespect my coffee choices. Rameen likes instant, too. We'll take turns preparing the mugs for each other, in the morning. If we’re both awake at the same time.”

  
“Sometimes your friends have shitty taste, as well, Phil. Bloody echo chamber, that is. I guess it’ll be my job to sway you.”

  
“Propaganda. It makes quicker.”

  
“Your mum makes quicker.”

  
Dan could hear Phil fall into a deep laughter from behind him, his voice still low and cracked with sleep. “Shut up!”

  
He smiled. “Shut your mum up.”

  
“I think she'd probably be quite cross with me for that.” Phil said.

  
“Yeah, probably. I’ve told my mum to shut up, a lot—when I was a teenager, obviously. I'm not ringing my mum up every Sunday: ‘hello? Mum? Shut the fuck up.’ I was just an angsty kid. She's a saint for putting up with it.”

  
“I fought with my parents, a few times. I doubt I'd ever told them to shut up, though. That seems a bit far, for me. I had arguments. I wasn't… like, my mum wasn't my best friend, but I got on with my parents as a teenager. I guess that's not really common, is it?”

  
“Maybe it is? Depends on the parents. Some are right cunts; they'd deserve to get told to shut up.” The kettle rang, and Dan took it off the stovetop. “In a minute, you'll taste what properly good coffee tastes like.”

  
“Didn't we literally meet in a coffee shop?”

  
“I mean, uh, yes… but mine is better.” Dan replied.

  
“I'm sure.”

  
“It is!”

  
“I'll like it more, either way.” Phil yawned. “It's made by you.”

  
Dan was very suddenly glad he had his back facing Phil, whilst he was steeping the coffee, as every compliment that was directed his way seemed to turn him into a flustered mess. “Are you implying you'll take pity on my coffee making skills? You wouldn't pity a painting by Leonardo da Vinci.”

  
“Not even pity. I'll just enjoy it, because like… you made it for me. And I’m always enjoying being with you. Even when I feel like crap.” He said it with such sincerity in his voice—the kind that only really comes with being newly awakened, and a lack of total mental guard—that Dan nearly melted on the spot. He was grinning.

  
“OK, properly shut up. It's almost done seeping.” he said as he searched through his kitchen cupboards with one hand for a clean coffee filter.

  
After he'd finished preparing the way both of them take their coffees—and found them a few spare vanilla biscuits for breakfast—he set everything down on the coffee table.

  
Phil titled his head a bit to the left, confused. “Do you only have white mugs? Plain?”

  
“Yeah… why?”

  
“Nothing. It's just… like, at our flat, we have loads of different mugs with, like, uhm... designs. We've collected them over the years. Whenever Rameen visits her family in Pakistan, she brings me home these cheesy tourist mugs. Like, you... don't?” Phil seemed to be genuinely concerned by the lack of colourfully designed mugs in Dan's life, and it made him feel shame deep in the bottom of his stomach—even if he couldn't quite figure out why. Plain, white mugs worked just as well as anything.

  
He didn't defend his internal argument’s points. “When you help me decorate my flat… we'll go to charity shops, and pick out new ones. Yeah?”

  
Phil looked up at him. “Yeah. OK. I'll bring you some from my flat, too. If you want.”

  
“I’d like that.” He sat himself down next to Phil, who was already a fourth ways through his coffee. Dan was beginning to realise his relationship with Phil was more of an equally balanced support than any of his previous one’s had ever been. It was nice.

  
“This actually is, like, amazingly good,” Phil said, smiling at him.

  
Dan immediately looked down at his fingers, curled around his mug. He began tracing along them with his eyes. “Shut up.”

  
“Are you ever gonna accept a compliment I give you, or will I have to force it?” he asked.

  
“Fuck, no. I’m, like… a blushing mess, whenever anyone compliments me. Especially you. M’not used to it.” He paused, and Phil let him continue with his thought. “My—my therapist, she said I should try to learn how to accept compliments, rather than like… thinking the person is lying, or doesn't actually know me; so obviously it's not true, right? I don't deny compliments anymore.”

  
“But you don't accept them?”

  
“A work in progress.”

  
“Well—that's fine. I'm still gonna compliment you, though. One day you'll have to accept it. Like, we'll be eighty… and I'll walk up to you in our nursing home and go ‘you have beautiful eyes, sunshine,’ and you'll say thanks; that’s when I'll know I’ve made it.”

  
“Jesus Christ, I hope you don't actually talk like some creepy nineteen-fifties American gangster, when you're eighty. That’d be the reason for my deathbed.”

  
“In a good way or a bad way?”

  
“Bad way. Really bad way. Reminds me of those, like, lowkey sex offenders in jackets who’d call at women.”

  
“You're right. Bad reputation. I'll think of some more British sounding compliments, by then. And they'll be classy. ‘Hey, love, you have the most wonderful dimples.’ Is that better?”

  
Dan took a sip of his coffee. “No offence, but you sound like a grandma talking to some random child at the parks. And she's wearing a huge straw hat that's got, like, decorated flowers and ribbon. She’s just fed the ducks.”

  
“Room for improvement, then,” Phil said, before continuing: “You actually do have dimples.” He said it which such confidence and known pride that it felt as if he was truly informing Dan of something he hadn't yet known about himself.

  
He turned his body back to facing Phil. “I know, mate. I've had this face for like, my entire life. I know my own deformities.”

  
“Oh my God! They're not deformities, Dan. They're the nicest thing.”

  
Dan looked down again as he felt his cheeks glow warmth, but it had been of no use when he was directly in frontal view of Phil. He smiled. Despite his general avoidance, he did like the praise and validation of compliments, even if he didn’t always quite believe them himself.

  
“You're so sweet,” Phil said softly. He carefully rested a hand against Dan’s knee.

  
It took all of Dan's willpower not to deny the compliment or accept it with a half-arsed nod of some sort—neither disagreement, nor full acceptance. “Thanks.”

  
“See, you can accept a compliment! I believe in you. Although… I guess we won't have to be in a nursing home together, when we're eighty, now.”

  
“We still can, though.” Dan said, looking up, “and we can do something right now, as well. We can do anything—as long as it's not too expensive, or like, far off. What'd you wanna do?”

  
Phil grinned, clearly full of interesting and odd ideas for their morning. “Wanna see that lighthouse people visit? During university, me and my friends used to visit Hull all the time—we'd buy fancy seafood at a restaurant, after one of us had gotten paid, then we'd stay up until, like, three in the morning, getting pissed-drunk near the lighthouse and being sick. Then we'd take the public bus back to York for morning classes. It's one of the reasons I moved here… even though I didn't always enjoy it. I don’t know.”

  
“Yeah?” Dan asked, voice unsure. He was a little confused by the sudden, in depth memory from Phil. He didn't know what lighthouse he was talking about, but it felt important to him. “OK. We definitely could. Where is it? The lighthouse?”

  
“Not too far from here. I could probably ring us a cab?”

  
“Sure,” Dan agreed.

  
*

  
By quarter past three, they were sat in the back of another cab, travelling Dan to a location entirely unknown to him. Phil had explained it as kind of a museum, but not exactly; more of a historical site. The cabbie seemed to make perfect sense of the road names and directions Phil had given, so he thought maybe he hadn't looked deep enough into the area around Hull's tourism industry when he'd first moved.

  
They’d both been still wearing their pyjamas from the previous day, with only the added warmth of their coats and trainers, as well as the mittens Dan’s nana had knit him. Phil hadn't brought any extra clothing along with him, and Dan couldn't be bothered to change into proper daywear for an early morning trip, in which it was likely they wouldn't run into a single soul.

  
The thought had brought a strange chill with it, at first, causing Dan to feel uneasy; but he reassured himself that he was going to be with Phil, who would likely make him feel safe and secure, even when there was so much darkness around them.

  
“Right, and what're a couple of lads like the pair of ye doing, goin’ out on the towns at these hours of the morning?” Their cabbie questioned, in a thick Scottish accent.

  
Phil immediately spoke up, although his voice had a noticeable waiver to it. “Just thought we'd go out for a midnight walk, seeing as we having nothing much better to do.”

  
“Not sleeping?”

  
“Oi, work during the night, sleep during the day. Today's off, one of the few. Thought we might as well keep the schedule.”

  
“Och aye, ‘couple of mates going out to do something late—other than drinking and fucking with me car. It’s fine by me, that is. Probably the last of it I'll see tonight.”

  
They both had a moment of hearty chuckling together, before the cabbie looked back to the road, leaving the both of them in their peace.

  
Dan opened the notes application in his mobile, and wrote out a message for Phil, reading:

  
_what the fuck was that?? how'd u get on w/ him so well i'd die u charismatic lad_

  
He tapped against Phil’s shoulder, who turned around, and had a quick look over his expression. Phil then had a moment of reading the note and hastily typing out a response.

  
_LOL i'm not actually i just know how to speak more northern. and i know you've lived in ~hull~ for a few years but it’s not properly the NORTH north. manchester isn't exactly the same but more similar to scotland than the queen where you’re from? thought i‘d spare u the trouble if that’s fine xx_

  
_bloody bastard. yh it's cool also and why did u lie abt where we're going/what we're doing wyd. r u about to cannibalise me_

  
_we'll have been married for like 1000000 years on our robot deathbeds and you'll be like “but how can i be SURE you're not a cannibal." would a cannibal be entertained doing puppy puzzles with you for 3 hours? i lied bcuz it's easier than explaining that we're adults who woke up at 2am after sleeping all day for no valid reason not like he'll be seeing us again_

  
_you're a bad liar you looked slightly terrified ngl_

  
_he can't see my face it's 3am it's dark out! also says you :-P_

  
_:’-(_

  
Phil looked up at him, and they both shared a lasting smile; it was barely visible to anyone but them, what with the limited sight early morning gives off. It was another one of the new, genuinely lovely moments. Dan'd had more of those in the past few days than all the years before he'd met Phil combined. It was a perpetual happiness.

  
Then, their cabbie had interrupted their looks with an update.

  
“All right. Here we are, then. Town End road, village of Paull.”

  
“Right. Thank you.”

  
Phil paid their cab fare, and they were soon standing out in the freezing ocean air of a village, not incredibly far from their homes, but not one Dan had ever thought to visit.

  
They were surrounded by gigantic, brick houses, owned by people Dan knew were far richer and nuclear than he would ever become; the lawns were all perfectly well kept. The air around them smelled incredibly strongly of saltwater, something he'd grown accustomed to, but it all felt fresher, if that were possible. The air in Paull was as old as the air anywhere else he'd lived or been. There was also a slight breeze, which he knew and expected. It was the same as every other thing he’d experienced in the past two years, but more overwhelming, colourful, and raw. Maybe it was that they were stood there in the night, in the dead of winter, and the cold felt like it was cutting harshly and cracking into his lips.

  
The stars shined brighter, nonetheless.

  
“Here,” Phil said, holding his left hand out towards Dan, motioning for him to follow along. They were both whispering; they knew they had to be quiet around all these houses, with people likely to be sleeping. “The lighthouse is only down the road from here—the Lighthouse at Paull, it's called. I only had us be dropped off here, down the road, rather than the actual place… because, uhm, I'm not exactly sure; I didn't want to make it seem as if we're breaking and entering. It doesn't matter either way, I'm not planning on going inside.” He paused, sticking up his nose. “It always smelled very… seaweed-y.”

  
“Yeah, OK,” Dan said, before he was rubbing his hands over his flushed cheeks. “Fuck, I’m cold. I always forget how cold it gets when you’re, like, right by the ocean. Until I am, and then I feel like I’m dying of hypothermia.”

  
“I'm sorry. We can swap coats, if you'd like? I reckon mine’s a bit warmer.”

  
“No, shut up with all that. You’re a bloody idiot. You already look like you're freezing your nipples blue, yourself. I don't fully wanna be the cause of your death.”

  
“Fine, fine. Have it your way,” Phil said, rolling his eyes in the most overdramatic, fond fashion that was to be possible.

  
“So,” Dan kicked at a loose stone as they walked, “what’re we doing here?”

  
“Anything.”

  
“You don't have any plan? I thought you were like, going to sacrifice yourself to the moon at four in the morning—at this specific spot, or something.”

  
“No, nothing like that. I just remember the ocean looking really pretty from here, when it's dark outside. To be fair, I was quite drunk.”

  
“You went here a lot?”

  
“Not that much. One of my—our friends, he hadn't lived anywhere nearby to the ocean when he was a child. Apparently he had, like, a total boat phase? He wanted to be a fisherman. He always demanded to see the lighthouses, and my friends and I were like… yeah, that's fine. Sure. My friends also went on that lightship by the docks, in Hull.”

  
“I took my family there, once. When they visited last year. Wanted to see what my flat looked like, and then took me out to eat. I cleaned everything like a madman for two days straight, and they cared for it a total of five minutes.”

  
“Parents are weird. Whenever my mum visits, she'll, like… she always finds something I've done wrong, or a spot I’ve missed, and insist I fix it—or she will, herself. She actually has. She’s dusted my bookshelf before. Luckily, I have a flatmate, so she usually stays out of the area Rameen is in—she doesn't know her that well, to be honest. Doesn't want to make an impolite impression?”

  
“Next time she goes to yours you should invite me over—she'll be nothing next to two strangers in the lounge, I reckon. I'll roam like ghost around the entire flat.”

  
Phil chuckled dryly. “Yeah, just have two random people slowly walking around all the rooms in the flat. That won't seem odd at all.”

  
“Definitely not.” He smiled. “We'll wear white sheets.”

  
Phil stopped walking and turned to face Dan. His hands were tucked deep inside the pockets of his overcoat. “We're here.”

  
“Where?”

  
“All those white things, there.” Phil pointed Dan towards a white, cement fence, of which Dan could glance over and make out what looked to be a sort of area with overgrown bushes, and trees. “I'm guessing someone lives here, now? There's a blue bin out front.”

  
“Maybe.”

  
“And that—” Phil looked up, “that's the Paull lighthouse.”

  
Dan’s eyes had mostly adjusted to the night, and he could see that it was attached to a white building, which seemed to be a maintenance house—there was dirt and mold across the outside walls, windows and tiled roof. It had a small concrete path going towards a front door. The lighthouse itself had a small, blue railing for a balcony, going all around the outside. There were windows and an off-red roof; the entire thing seemed very unextraordinary and quaint.

  
He wouldn't have wondered why it wasn't on any lists of ‘Amazing Things to See or Visit Whilst in Britain,’ but nonetheless, it had an old, homely feel to it. The kind of thing that would only be appreciated by people who'd walked past it everyday to their work for the past twenty years. A staple of some sorts. It had been standing there long before Dan had been born and would exist after he was gone.

  
“I like it,” Dan said softly. They'd both been standing in silence for a good few minutes. “Reminds me of like… farm houses. In a way.”

  
“Yeah? I think the ocean is much nicer. And how clear the stars are, in the sky. Like, I know Hull isn't properly a huge city, and I've lived in Manchester City, so I do know that, but, like… the stars are really pretty—when there aren't a lot of apartment blocks or office buildings.” He paused, took a breath. “Isn't it a thing… like, there are city stars in New York City? There aren't any natural stars, because of all the light pollution, so they call the light from the buildings ‘stars?’ I may have dreamed that.”

  
“Yeah, maybe. Pollution can fuck itself off, though. We should all go back to being cavemen and using ditches in, like, forests as toilets. Becoming one with nature, or whatever.”

  
“True. I guess we could. I mean—even just you and me. We can buy a farm house and raise goats for a living. Or vegetable farmers? We'll think of something. It'll be good.”

  
“Is goat raising really a sustainable business model? In twenty-eighteen?”

  
“Someone has to supply the goat milk, right?”

  
“Hmmm, you’ve got a point.”

  
Phil was right. The view really had been beautiful, Dan thought as he looked out over the metal rails into the vastness of the ocean. The pavement beneath them was dirtied and overrun with puddles. It wasn't any typical type of beauty; it would’ve never been featured as any sort of must-see destination. It was dirty water, in a village just off from a rather dull city, in a country that already had a specific plainness to its history—from his memories of secondary school classes, at the very least.

  
He'd describe it as a boring comfort, if he had to do that. After one's life for the past few weeks had been unfamiliar and hellish, and they'd just wanted to go to their home again and get back into routine. Despite having never visited before, Dan knew that this was definitely someone's home. There was a certain feeling to it.

  
The entire world seemed to be still and silent, apart from he and Phil. He wouldn't be particularly surprised if he were to be informed that they were the only two people in the entire village who were currently awake—it seemed more than likely. He didn't quite know if it had any twenty-four hour shops, though.

  
Dan turned back towards Phil, who was staring at him, but seemed as lost in his own head as Dan’d felt himself. His eyes widened in surprise when he noticed him, and he raised his eyebrows. Phil truly had such an expressive face, in the most interesting of ways. Such a lovely face.

  
“Oh, hi,” Phil said.

  
“Hey,” Dan said, shrugging.

  
“Uhm—I was just thinking, about how, like, beautiful you are. Not in a creepy way. You're, like… uh, you're nice to look at.”

  
Dan looked down to his trainers. They'd been white—a bit scuffed up by the condition of the pavement. “If we're dating, doesn't that mean you're allowed to call me beautiful? It's not creepy if we're boyfriends, I think.”

  
“I don't know, exactly? I guess it depends on us.”

  
“It does,” he confirmed, “and I think it's fine.”

  
Dan glanced back up at Phil and let himself indulge in staring for longer than was properly needed. It seemed to be that he was tired, which was something Dan had quickly noted. He had laughter lines by his cheeks and eyes and the worry lines that come with aging on his forehead. His hair was entirely unkempt after a night and a day of the way they'd been living together. Dan could imagine he looked not dissimilar, himself. Phil was extraordinarily human, which was something Dan had regrettably missed the first time he'd looked him over. He looked very nice.

  
Phil’s voice was then low, with a hint of nerves, interrupting Dan’s thought process. “Would it be OK if I kissed you?”

  
“Wh—yeah… uh, I mean, yeah. Sure.” He was feeling a tad stunned by the question, and not all that mentally present in the first place. As such, Dan didn't fully realise what he’d consented to until he could feel Phil’s warm breathing against his nose, and his hand gently cupping his face. It sent a slight tingling feeling all over his body, one that he had typically associated with the incredible highs of sex.

  
The first something Dan noticed was that Phil’s lips were incredibly warm—and somehow soft, even though they had both been stood outside in the dead of winter, and they’d surely have been cracked up just the same.

  
However, it had only been a quick sort of thing, a second or even less, and they’d broke apart as soon as they had been together. It felt the same as if he'd bought himself a bag of Turkish Delights, eaten a half of one, and then dumped the rest of the bag into a rubbish bin, unceremoniously. It felt to him like an instant, addictive craving for more; yet he felt he was mostly justified in it, so long as Phil agreed. He hadn't gotten enough.

  
He leaned towards Phil and caught his lips, in the moment he was pulling himself away, and kissed him again.

  
It had lasted a few seconds longer than the former—there was the true, sweet feeling that surrounded him whenever he properly kissing someone for the first time, but intensified beyond anything reasonable. Phil was the only person he thought he'd ever want again, he felt very certain of it.

  
The serotonin that had come of fully snogging Phil—and all of the already understood implications that were expected along with it—soon left them both grinning, uncoordinated and almost pathetic, into their kiss. So much so that it was quite impossible to keep well focused on enjoying it, or either of them being particularly gratifying, when there was so much happiness travelling in the spaces between them.

  
This particular scenario had been one of the dorkier things to have happened during his years of dating—being so delighted by the mere fact of kissing that he couldn't properly continue it. He decided it was all right, as Phil seemed to be just as enthralled as he’d felt. He had known early on that Phil’s equal amounts of everything: endearing investment in The Great British Bake Off, puzzles, Nintendo Switch merchandise, or the likewise, made it so that Dan felt he never had anything to feel embarrassed about doing or being. There was no hiding between them, he thought.

  
Dan immediately broke into the overwhelming sort of laughter that only came from him being utterly high on experiencing life; delirious-sounding and reckless. “God, you’re the best.”

  
Phil was laughing as well, his tongue poking out from between the front of his teeth, and his eyes scrunched up. His face was burning a bright rose colour, and Dan was sure he looked the same. They both looked dreadful, and were overjoyed by it. “So are you.”

  
“Thanks for kissing me,” Dan said, because he truly was thankful, and had no other way of phrasing it.

  
“It's fine. I’m sure I owed you some kind of favour, anyway,” Phil replied, beaming.

  
Dan had a sudden impulse, and afterwards, in a few moments time, he was hugging his arms around Phil’s waist, burying his face in his shoulder, and clinging on him. He smiled. “You really are amazing. I'm so happy whenever I’m with you… like, it's four in the morning? I'm tired and I'm bloody hungry. And I look like crap, I reckon. But I just feel… so happy being with you. If I was alone right now, I'd just be asleep.”

  
“Considering that it's four in the morning, right now, that might be the healthier option?” Phil said. “But, uhm… yeah, me too. I really—yeah.”

  
Dan shook his head against Phil's shoulder. “S'not. It wouldn't be healthier. I've felt more, like… actually properly happy, these past few days with you than I have since forever. Dunno if that's, like, some kind of problem, but—”

  
“I'm glad,” Phil cut him off, “really, really glad about that.”

  
“Yeah.”

  
They both stood like that, there for a few minutes more, in stilted silence. Dan was very aware of the fact that they were so publicly visible, even if there was no one awake at that hour to bother seeing them. It felt like a strangely valuable situation, though it wasn't nearly the first time he'd been physically affectionate with someone outside of a private home. Maybe, he thought to himself, it was that it’s not particularly common to see two people hugging for extended periods in public, let alone at such an hour that it was.

  
Their unconditional eagerness had dwindled down into something more relaxed and calm. He still was feeling an incredible excitement with everything that had been done, but it was more of an inside content.

  
Phil eventually took an initiative step backwards. “So, uh… what should we do? What do you want?”

  
“What I want…? I want—to go home, now, I guess. You’re going back to your flat?”

  
“Not unless you want me to. I reckon Rameen would be upset with me if I rang her at this hour, or accidentally woke her up with my clumsy limbs. It'd be a safer bet back at yours.”

  
“All right, then. I think… yeah, I'm pretty sure I have a work shift at eleven, though. I won’t be around all day,” Dan said.

  
“That's OK. I should probably be heading home around that time, anyway. And—I have a flight leaving for Isle of Man at three in the afternoon, I'll have to properly finish packing everything.” he replied.

  
“Oh. Right.” Dan knew very well that Phil would eventually be visiting his family for Christmas, and he'd do the same, but being informed of it still felt as though the words spoken were a dagger cutting against his skin, reminding him that every moment he had with Phil was temporary, and life must be gotten on with. He had an ever-present dread of it. “That's… sure. Can I speak with you before your flight is gone off? I mean to, like, say goodbye? Something out of a sappy romance film, you know?”

  
“Of course! You definitely can, I'd love that.”

  
He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, even though they’d already been warmed enough by his mittens. Something about Phil having said the word ‘love,’ associated with him in any context, made his chest feel tight and fluttery. “I'll ring us a cab, now.”

  
*

  
After they'd gotten back to Dan’s flat, Domino’s vegetarian pizza had been delivered, and they both watched through a few more episodes of Bake Off.

  
It’d been quarter past nine when Dan stopped scrolling Reddit and took a quick glance at the time. They'd been sat on Dan's sofa together, not necessarily interacting, but comfortably sharing space in a different sort of way.

  
“I think I’d ought to be getting ready now,” Dan stated. “God, morning shifts always make me feel like I'm in secondary school again. I hate being awake so early. I hate working them, and it’s always the worst when it's Christmas season. It'll likely be a bloody fucking rush, today. Last minute shoppers. And no one wants to come into work anymore. They want to spend time with their ‘families.’ Like, fuck off mate.”

  
Phil looked up from his mobile and held a hand flat against his chest in a noble way—Shakespearean dramatics. “Speaking as someone who’s taking time off at Christmas because I enjoy visiting my family, I apologise on all our behalf.”

  
He frowned. “It’s not like I fully don’t like going to Reading, to visit my family. I mean… my grandma and the family dog—Colin—are lovely. Everyone needs more of his doggo cuddles in their lives, to be honest. Everything else just… becomes a lot, very quickly. That's why I don’t leave for the train until late on Christmas Eve. But your apology is accepted, thank you.”

  
“No problem. And… I hope this Christmas is a good one for you, then. Where do you even work, by the way?”

  
“Marks & Spencer,” he answered. “I think it'll be OK. Mostly because of you, to be honest. My family has a lot to say about my life, and I feel like they'll think you're a good thing for me. Not to, like, pressure you about anything. I'm not like, uh—I'm not… yeah.” Dan moved his hands around emphatically as he spoke, as if gestures would somehow clarify his words. He always had a slight disconnection between what he meant and what he ended up saying.

  
“No, I understand what you mean. It's good if I make things easier for you, isn't it?” Phil said, just as his mobile made a musical tune.

  
“Hmm?”

  
“It's Rameen. She wanted to make sure I’m still alive. I probably should've messaged her earlier.” He began typing out a message.

  
Dan couldn't help but feel a flare of envy in the bottom his stomach, at that. He could very well disappear for weeks on end, and his family would be the only ones to truly notice, when he’d miss his weekly conversations with his nana. His work would probably ring in wondering where the hell he'd been, not turning up to any of his scheduled shifts. He had to remind himself that wasn't how life was supposed to be for someone, and that Phil's situation was far healthier than his own.

  
He could almost hear his therapist’s voice in his head, telling him, ‘Dan, it doesn’t appear to be healthy for you, wishing someone would have it worse than they do, only so that you won't feel as if you have it bad. You should try wanting better for yourself, not worse for others.’ He thought that maybe Phil would care if he went missing for weeks.

  
He looked back to Phil, who then had a huge grin spread across his face, as the light from his messages on his mobile reflected off it.

  
“What?” Dan asked.

  
“Nothing. I'm just, uhm, telling her about that kiss thing we did. It was nice.”

  
“‘That kiss thing we did.,”” he made quotes with his hands, “king of romance, everyone.”

  
“Shut up. And who's everyone? We're alone—unless there's something you're not telling me.”

  
“Yeah. I'm sorry you had to find out this way, but…” he took a deep breath, “there are sixty-eight ghosts living in my flat. Exactly. I know this; I feed them dog food. They've been watching everything we do.”

  
“Wow, must’ve been quite a boring few days.”

  
“Not any more than usual. You vastly overestimate the excitement of my daily routine. Speaking of which—I actually do have to start getting ready.” He looked back to the time on his mobile. “Yeah, probably should.”

  
“Oh, right! Yeah, do that. I don't want to hold you up.”

  
“Let's just hope I still have some biscuits left somewhere,” he said as he was standing himself up and stretching.

  
“Why d’you need biscuits? I mean, that'd be a good morning routine anyway, I think, so I won’t judge.”

  
“To take with my, uhm, antidepressants. I can't swallow pills whole without something to eat, and it turns out biscuits properly do work well for that. Plus, you can buy a crapton of them at the same time. Quite convenient.”

  
“Oh. Well… you make a good case for them, in my opinion. If I ever have to take pills I'll be sure that biscuits are my food of choice—even though I guess I can actually swallow pills. Maybe as a kind of reward?”

  
“It is a good reward, too. It's good to start off your day with chocolate, or vanilla, biscuits. Better than it is to start without, at least,” Dan said.

  
“I mean, biscuits always make everything better, don't they?”

  
He smiled down towards Phil, “They do make a pretty solid effort.”

  
*

  
An hour or as much later, he and Phil were stood outside the doors of Caffè Nero. It had been a different location from where they'd met, one closer to the Marks & Spencer Dan worked at.

  
Phil was still dressed up in his clothes from their previous day—along with another one of Dan’s hoodies and one of his older coats; he'd decided Phil needed something else, less dated—whilst Dan had completely changed, now sporting his work uniform. This hadn’t meant he didn't fully intend to live out the rest of his days in the jumper Phil had given him, after all.

  
“Bloody Christ, nostalgia,” Dan said as he stared into the café. Almost all the walls at this location were made of glass and had been slightly fogged up from the morning air, but he could still reasonably see inside.

  
“It is,” Phil agreed, as he pushed open the door and held it for them both. “It feels like a lot more than… what was it? Two days? I don’t know. Time hasn't passed since we met. It isn't real. The clocks have all stopped working.”

  
“Definitely not. Time is a social construct; we've been dating for years and years. That's already what it feels like, anyway.”

  
Phil nodded as they walked up to the front, where a teenage boy who looked to be no more than sixteen was stood. He hunched over, reading what appeared to be a paper version of the menu. He seemed to be not particularly interested in anything with as little simulation as a casual café. He had the same kind of fringe that Dan had worn for years when he was around the same age, with the same colour. Dan almost felt as if he was taking a small look back in time at his past self—except when Dan was a teenager, the hairstyle had been a popular trend he’d attempted to emulate. He couldn't imagine that in their current year.

  
“Yes,” Phil said to the boy, who had just looked up from the paper he’d been reading, “uhm, I'll—we'll need a moment, still... I think.”

  
“All right, then,” he replied, looking again down to his paper. Dan guessed he might've been a newer hire; still trying to memorize all the menus options. He'd been there before.

  
“Should we get breakfast?” Phil murmured the question to Dan. “Something small, I mean.”

  
“Yeah, sure. What'd you want?”

  
“Maybe, uh… ‘Pain au Chocolat?’” he said, with an utterly botched pronunciation of: ‘pain-ah-chocolate.’

  
“Mate—why do you just want to see yourself suffer? There are so many non-chocolate options that won't make you feel poorly. Also, your French pronunciation is… not great. Although I guess I can't say anything, to be honest.”

  
“Don't judge my chocolate-eating decisions. It’s worth the pain.”

  
“I'm sure it is,” Dan turned back to the boy working at the front, “I'll have a Maple Pecan pastry, thank you. And a latte, with soya milk.”

  
“For you, sir?”

  
“Uhm, an Espresso con Panna. Thank you,” Phil ordered.

  
Dan smiled to himself at that. He was remembering the hour they first spoke, and how Phil promised next time, if he visited, that was what he’d be ordering. He felt like Phil was always giving him butterflies in his heart, with everything he did or remembered. Dan hoped he’d made him feel the same.

  
“Ah, the baked stuff will be a few minutes, yet. They haven't fully like, finished baking everything. Sorry for the inconvenience,” he said, with as much genuine grief as a sixteen year old, working a holiday shift, could manage to uphold. Dan decided he'd leave him a generous tip, if nothing else.

  
Phil lightly squeezed against Dan's arm, grabbing his attention. He whispered into his ear, “I'll find us a table, yeah?”

  
Dan nodded, quiet.

  
Moments later, after they’d both paid, they were both sat across from each other at a cushioned booth beside the window; it had become so fogged up, it would have been impossible to look out onto the road. They’d both requested for takeaway mugs.

  
They hadn't been in conversation, but merely gazing at one another. It wasn't the first time Dan had taken a long moment to assess every feature of Phil, and he hoped it for certain wouldn't be the last. However, it was a different feeling at this time. Phil had been unabashedly staring back at him, almost making eye contact, but not quite. Dan once read somewhere that if you look someone in the eyes for a full thirty seconds, you begin to fall in love with them. He didn't believe that, really, but the sentiment of intimacy brought on by it was feeling inarguably real in that moment. He thought they probably seemed mad to anyone looking towards them.

  
“You're so beautiful,” Phil said to him, sounding a little like he was daydreaming, or gone high off something. His voice was reading light, soft, and gentle.

  
The pure impulsiveness of it immediately set Dan into an uncontrollable fit of giggles, and soon after, laughter, which had his entire body shaking and flushed red.

  
“Sorry! It’s true, though,” Phil apologised. He didn’t sound at all regretful, and he had been smiling.

  
Dan finally calmed himself down long enough to speak. He took a breath before he said, “I know. You're just… ridiculous. But very nice, y'know?”

  
“I thought we were both stupid?”

  
“We are both stupid. You're ridiculous. They don't cancel each other out, it's not, like, BIDMAS.”

  
“You have a point, with that,” Phil said.

  
There was a beat of silence before Phil went to what had been left of the fog on the window and began making a drawing of a stickman with his index finger. The aforementioned stickman was carrying a long pole, which turned out to have been a fishing hook, with a fish attached at the end.

  
“What're you doing?” Dan asked, as if he didn’t already know.

  
“Drawing on the window.”

  
“A fisherman?”

  
“Yeah. Don't worry, no fish were harmed in the making of this drawing. It's only fog, of course.”

  
“Right. Of course,” He replied as he continued on with watching Phil. He had positioned his head to be resting in the palm of his hand, and he was quite sated and mesmerised by watching the actions. He thought he might’ve fallen asleep right then.

  
“The both of you two, your pastries are done!” the teenage boy had called to them from the front, pulling Dan out from his relaxed, not present state.

  
“I'll just grab them,” Phil told him, resting his left hand atop Dan’s for a brief second.

  
It was a small gesture, and Dan could barely make out the warmth of the feeling through the knit of his mittens. Although he was very grateful to his nana for knitting them especially, he was suddenly irrationally angered by the fact that he was still wearing them, two years after the fact of the gift had passed. The winters north of Reading hadn't even ended up being particularly cold. It was only the windchill by the ocean; there are rarely ever times where it’s snowing by saltwater oceans.

  
Dan hastily began pulling off the both of his mittens and stuffing them to the very bottom of his coat pocket. He felt as if his hands could finally breathe again.

  
Just at that minute, Phil returned to their table and sat down with their plated pastries. “You took your mittens off?” he asked, as he seemed to immediately notice.

  
“Yeah. They were a bit itchy,” Dan replied. His Maple Pecan had smelled delicious.

  
“I could imagine. This just means you can draw more proper on the window fog, now. You should have a go at it.”

  
Dan had a sudden idea strike him. “I will. Close your eyes for a moment?”

  
“Uh… sure. OK.” Phil took off his glasses before covering his eyes with both his hands. “I really can't see anything.”

  
“Good. Wait—” he said. He reached above both their heads and started on drawing half of a gigantic heart with the pad of his thumb, before completing the other half of it. The glass of the window was cold and wet against his skin. It felt undeniably real, in a way things usually didn't to Dan's dreamlike state of routine. “OK. You can open them, now.”

  
Phil opened his eyes, returned his glasses to their previous position, and then gasped as a grin grew across his face. Dan was fairly sure he could never be tired of it, or being the cause. “Oh my gosh! Dan, you actual idiot!”

  
“See? I did a good thing.”

  
“You did a good thing. Wait, I'm gonna do something too.” Phil said, reaching up and drawing a second stickman right underneath the bottom side of the heart. “That's me, and—” He drew yet another stickman beside him, and they appeared to be stood close together, holding hands. “And… that's you. Now it makes more sense.”

  
Dan felt a heat rise to his face. He had both gotten familiar with, and would never get properly used to, the feeling of it. It was one of the many things he vowed to himself he would embrace forever, or as long as Phil would be with him. “How can you tell the difference between them, though?”

  
“Here: I'll give yours curly hair and mine glasses,” Phil decided. He did as such.

  
“Looks good, mate.” He took a bite of his Maple Pecan.

  
“Thanks. My dad is an artist, so that’s gotten passed down to me, as I'm sure you can see.”

  
“Definitely. You have a total… artist’s thumb?”

  
“I do,” He agreed. “What time is it, by the way? Should you be leaving yet?”

  
Dan's stomach dropped at the reminder, particularly considering he wouldn't be seeing Phil physically again until after Christmas was finished with. He felt like there was an uncountable, infinite amount of things he wanted to do with Phil, and it wasn't fair there seemed to be no time for them all. He took a moment to promise himself to the future of he and Phil, if that's what they wanted, rather than the time they'd be apart. Focus on the positives, as his therapist would remind him. He could ask to spend New Years Eve at Phil's flat, with Rameen.

  
“Maybe. Probably, I should go. And I'll see you again?”

  
“Of course you will. If you want to, I mean. We made plans to redesign your entire flat, I reckon that'd take at least a month.”

  
“Shut up—it’s not a bloody remodelling job. It'll take a week, at the very most. But… all right.”

  
“We can think of something else to be doing together for a month.”

  
“Yeah. We can,” he said. “D'you wanna come outside with me, for a minute?”

  
Phil nodded and began standing up from his seat. They both had half-done pastries left, but Dan thought he could finish his on the public bus, and Phil could stay a while afterwards. It'd all sort out in the end.

  
After this, they were stood outside, close together, so as Dan could almost feel Phil’s breathing against his own cheeks. His breath smelled of bitter coffee. A strong, chilled breeze had been passing over the both of them and causing Dan to hug his arms around himself.

  
“You're leaving?” Phil asked, his already quiet voice was almost entirely drowned out by the wind.

  
“I should,” he said, mimicking Phil's low tone, looking down at the laces of his trainers, and kicking against the pavement.

  
There was an assortment of couples sat nearby to them, presumably with some kind of caffeinated beverage, enjoying their breakfast. It made Dan feel a stronger type of white-hot envy than he had grown used to, obviously quite illogical, but nonetheless present. These people were likely going to be spending holidays together, and would rarely have to be apart in their lives, if they so choose to live that way. He didn’t reason that at all fair. He hadn't thought their fate was equal.

  
Dan knew that it was probable that some, if not most, of the couples he saw would not be spending their holidays by each other’s sides. They'd visit their own families and maybe exchange messages or updates throughout the day. He was being a enormous, bloody arse, and he knew it very well, but he reckoned it was the cold doing it to him.

  
He thought what he fully wanted in that moment was to pass throughout his life and feel everything he'll ever be allowed to experience with Phil, in whatever instant. He wanted to savour the fifteenth Christmas they'd spend together and then go back in their timeline and watch crappy Hallmark films on their second anniversary. Dan knew it to be daft—even making the assumption that their relationship would survive past January was—but there was something inside of him that still wanted to avoid the impending, aching loneliness of being without Phil and get on with a life where he’d never need to worry about such things.

  
Dan had an intense craving for everything he'd ever be allowed to do with, or for, Phil; he was feeling as if he were a young child about to overindulge himself on Halloween sweets, even if the sweets in question didn't fully exist.

  
“You OK?” Phil asked him.

  
Dan blinked himself back to a more present state of consciousness. Neither of them were feeling their best, after a rough sleep and an exhausting day afterwards. If nothing else, Dan was eagerly awaiting some decent rest. “I'm fine—I'm just… going to miss you, is all. I don’t want you to leave.”

  
“I do have to leave, but I'll come back. I promise.” He gently cupped Dan’s face with a hand, which had gone quite apparently cold, unprotected from the weather, but had somehow still been soothing in a way the actual air around them would never have compared to. He wondered why that was. Dan closed his eyes.

  
“I want to, like… keep doing the same things we've been doing, forever. I mean, except probably a bit healthier. Dunno.” He was well aware he was whingeing, and sounded as if he were an overtired child. However, he was willing to allow himself to it for a little while longer—before he had to put on a customer service smile for the unfortunate remainder of the day. Then he'd go back to his flat, at which point he could properly pity himself over how he was feeling. He'd probably order takeaway.

  
“Wouldn't that get a bit boring?”

  
“Maybe. I don't really mind being boring if it's with you.”

  
“That's such… like, such a cheesy thing to say.” Phil giggled.

  
“It's true! Let me be cheesy for a while longer, we've only known each other a few days, right?”

  
“Right. Well—in that case, you have a point with the boring thing. Even the prospect of doing a puzzle with you is probably more exciting to me, right now, than like, meeting with Queen Elizabeth.”

  
“Aww, you rank me higher than old Liz? I'd hate to break the news to her.” He had his fingers rested around Phil's forearm, holding him steady.

  
“I’m sure she'll be devastated by it. Truly.”

  
“Yeah. She will,” Dan said, his tone silent, weightless, as he was just opening his eyes again. The universe felt slightly rearranged. Phil was looking over him with an unforgettable, flawless, stupid grin, and it made Dan want to promise himself he'd try his best to survive the week, awaiting Phil's return. He'd work on all the rest of it later.

  
“Did you know that I really like you?” Dan then whispered to him. “Because, like, God, I do. You're so good, such a good person, and you've somehow made me want to better myself, because I feel like there's somebody to be better for. It's very hard to find motivation when no one really cares anyway, but you do, and I just—” He took a deep breath in, and let it out. “Thanks.”

  
“You too, I—” Phil said, decidedly cutting himself off. “Yeah, I like you a lot. And I like being around you all the time, so it's like, amazing if that works out well for the both of us. Is that how this is supposed to work?”

  
“I reckon it probably is. Something like this, anyway,” he replied.

  
Dan leaned forward to kiss Phil, and despite the weather conditions that’d been making way throughout the air around them, his lips had somehow remained perfectly warming. Dan had a brief moment of questioning to himself if it was an evolutionary development and hoping It'd shown up for him too; that nothing about him was, in any way, uncomfortable for Phil to experience.

  
He found that both their lips were quite a bit chapped, that he could fully feel it against his own. He spent twenty seconds addicted to snogging Phil, before he'd been pulled back from and informed by Phil that he was worried about what onlookers would make of them.

  
Dan had let out an obnoxious laugh, one he was sure could be heard clearly by the many people around them both, innocently going about their mornings, before he was taking Phil back in again.

  
He was thoroughly done for.

**Author's Note:**

> written for the phandom reverse bang '18/19
> 
> based on the amazing artwork of @starryeyedhomicide on tumblr, which u can find at https://starryeyedhomicide.tumblr.com/post/182988475799/heres-my-art-piece-for-the-phandom-reverse-bang (until i figure out how to imbend links on ao3 notes, if that day ever comes) 
> 
> huge ty to @heartthrobphilly on tumblr for being my beta!! thanks for fixing my incomprehensable writing style n making it legible. (she seriously fixed every single misplaced period and captial letter in this, i'm in awe!) i'm sorry this ended up being a bit messy and stressful. life was ~putting us thru it~ but ty ly bb <3
> 
> also thanks to mione for just being helpful in general. a few of things she contributed to this fic behind the scenes: some of rameen's speaking patterns (i also took rameen's name from one of her friends soz you've had to find out like this love u x), homemade biryani, all my knowledge of how speaker mode phone calls work, inadvertently the correct way to take antidepressents, what certain types of coffee taste like; she told me hull was a boring town as someone from her family studied there, and she's some of my basis for feeling like you want to talk to someone all of the time. ty for letting me complain to u abt this fic for the last month of it's existence. as well as some of the general circumstances of this fic, in a way. a million hugs for you!!! <33
> 
> fun fact: all my fics take place in a slightly altered universe where britian voted against brexit. may is no longer in office and all is well
> 
> @phansb on tumblr


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